


A Dream of Ice and Fire

by Wayrich



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fuck Bittersweet, Grief/Mourning, I go past 8x06 and who the fuck is gonna stop me, Regret, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-03-08 16:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayrich/pseuds/Wayrich
Summary: Beyond the Wall, Jon Snow struggles with his feelings after the events of King's Landing. However, far in the east, something is about to occur. Something which will change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN ANY RIGHTS TO THE GAME OF THRONES SERIES PUBLISHED BY GEORGE RR MARTIN NOR DO I OWN ANY CHARACTERS PUBLISHED IN HIS WORK. THIS IS A FANFICTION PROJECT.

Snow covered the empty lands Beyond the Wall. The Fist of the First men stood resolutely, as it always did, through the Age of Heroes all the way passed the War for the Dawn. Tents were arrayed around it, and the occupants strolled around, unpacking their possessions. They would stop here for a while and wait for the others to arrive from the Shadow Tower and what once was known as Eastwatch.

However, as the people at the base of the landmark milled around, talking happily, at the top of the ancient fortress, one tent stood alone, and one person occupied it, sat in front of a small fire in front of it. He wore black clothing, from his boots to his heavy cloak, and he had a sword belted to his waist, bearing a white wolf pommel, a stark contrast to the rest of his ensemble. His dark brown hair, once put in a ponytail, now flowed freely. The man’s face was set in pure misery.

This man was Aegon Targaryen, more commonly known as Jon Snow, the once thought bastard of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, instead the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince of Dragonstone.

After the events which took place in King’s Landing, Jon was exiled to the Night’s Watch, but he didn’t stay there for long. Westeros held nothing for him anymore, so he abandoned the Wall and came north with Tormund and the others. Many would think it dishonourable, but he didn’t care. Fuck honour. Look where it got him. The freefolk were happy to have him, as they consider him to be the closest thing the Freefolk have to a hero. Jon, however, felt like anything but. They, after the first few nights, left him alone at Tormund’s request. He had told him everything, and he agreed that Jon needed his space.

He had no reason to stay. Sansa has been granted the North’s independence, and she now sits in Winterfell as Queen of the North. Arya, ever the wild spirit, decided to take a single ship and sail away, to whatever lies west of Westeros. Bran now sat as King of the Six Kingdoms, not by birthright, but because they chose him to lead them, like Dany would have wanted.

A sob escaped his lips at the thought of her.

He killed her.

He killed the woman he loved.

It seemed like the only option available to him. She had slaughtered an entire city. Everyone had told her that when the bells rung, the city would have surrendered, and they would face little to no opposition when they stormed the Red Keep. Dany, however, as she had sat on one of the ruined towers of the city’s wall, had then proceeded to light the city ablaze, giving no care to who she burned, friend, foe or innocent.

After the slaughter had finished, he had entered the city and was broken by what he saw around him. The charred husks of people were strewn around. Some of the people who had, by some miracle, survived were burned beyond recognition. One person, who they had passed, you could see his spine, as the flesh surrounding it had been torn from his body.

They had proceeded through the city, eventually arriving at the courtyard in front of the stairs leading to the Red Keep. Jon had then listened to her talking to her men, speaking in a different language. Jon missed the most of it, but the few words that he heard caused him to get the jist of it. She mentioned Winterfell and Dorne, which Jon then knew what she was going to do. She was going to take over everything, in the name of freeing them from tyrants.

After her speech, Tyrion confessed to his actions, as he released his brother, Jaime, and told him to take Cersei and run. He then resigned as her Hand, and she arrested him. She then turned to Jon, and gave him the coldest look imaginable, and Jon knew why, and he hated himself for it.

He betrayed her, and in more ways that one. She begged him to keep his heritage quiet, and he didn’t. He told his sisters, and Sansa had told Tyrion, and Tyrion had told Varys, who then proceeded to plot behind her back and attempt to poison her. She had executed him for his crimes, but Jon knew it was his fault.

Then, she asked him to love her, as more than his Queen, and he rejected her. Looking back, he didn’t even know why he did it. He was just so confused. The man who he thought was his father lied to him, and he was now related, by blood, to her. He wasn’t disgusted by the idea, as every family practiced incest, but he just needed time to process it, which they didn’t have. He wished, so, so fiercely that he could go back in time and tell her, tell her everything, and to grab her and never let her go. But he didn’t, and she isolated herself, and now look what happened.

And finally, the last and most painful of betrayals. Tyrion had asked him to do it, and he had disagreed at first, telling him that she was his queen, and nothing would ever change that. But then he brought up his sisters, telling him that they wouldn’t bend the knee. The meaning was clear; Dany would kill anyone who got in her way. “Love is the death of duty,” Aemon had once told him, and he was right. When he was with Dany, he didn’t care about ruling the North, or anything else. But, as Tyrion had then told him, “Sometimes, duty is the death of love,” and he was right too. Sometimes, you had to put your own feelings aside and do what was necessary. And so, he went to the throne room, or, what was left of it, and there he found her standing over the Iron Throne, the object she had fought for all her life for.

She turned to him, smiling, telling him that she still sought to make a better world, a good world. Jon had then asked her what about everyone else’s versions of good, and she smiled and told him that their choices didn’t matter. It was then Jon knew that he had to do it. He, just like his father before him, always did what was right, no matter the consequences and how much it would hurt.

So he did it. He plunged his dagger into her heart, feeling like it was doing the same to him, and he held her as she died, a look of betrayal and love on her face before she took her final breath. Jon instantly regretted it as soon as he did it. He could have talked her down, told her how he felt, how that nothing in the world mattered to him as long as he had her there, with him. He could have told her that they should go away together, to some far away place that nobody would find them.

Drogon had appeared at that moment, nudging Dany’s body, like a child asking his dead mother why she won’t wake up. He had then screeched out in grief, before he looked at Jon ferociously, fire churning in his gaping jaw. Jon would have welcomed it. He deserved it. Drogon, however, let loose his ravaging inferno on the surroundings, melting the Iron Throne in his rage before he scooped up Dany in his talons and flew away, to god knows where. Jon looked at the bubbling lump of metal that used to be the Iron Throne and couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction. How many people had died over that throne? It brought and symbolised nothing but death.

Afterwards, the Unsullied had found him in the throne room, kneeling next to a pool of Dany’s blood. Jon told them of what happened, what he had done, tears still falling from his eyes. They then dragged him off to the cells, where he dwelled for several weeks in his own sorrow and guilt before Tyrion came to tell him that Bran was now King, and that he was to be sent to the Wall for his crimes.

Jon had originally planned to go and find Drogon, to find her body, and to give her the burial she deserved, but he found himself saying goodbye to his family and leaving for the Wall.

Now, as Jon sat alone, atop the Fist of the First Men, he could do nothing but grieve, tears slipping down his face. He thought Ygritte was the love of his life, but the affection he felt for her paled with what he felt for Dany.

His Queen. His love. His life.

Jon had contemplated throwing himself off the top several times, to get to the afterlife, and to beg for a thousand years for Dany’s forgiveness. But, as he thought to himself, that would be too easy. He deserved to live like this. He deserved to wake every morning, wishing she was cuddled up next to him, but reaching out and feeling nothing, with another shard of ice piercing his heart. They should have never left that boat.

Despite his abandoning of the Wall, Jon would stick to his vows. He would take no wife and father no children. He didn’t deserve it, nor want it. The only wife Jon would ever want was her, the only children he wanted to hold to be a mix of him and her.

The wind around him picked up and Jon wrapped his cloak around him. The cold seemed to affect him more now. Jon didn’t mind though. Let him get frostbite. Let his fingers and toes fall off. Let him die up here, alone.

A whine then grabbed Jon’s attention, and he turned to see Ghost padding towards him. His direwolf had sustained several injuries, including the loss of most of one of his ears, but he was still as healthy as normal. Ghost walked to his side and lay down next to him, whining softly.

Jon stroked his fur. “I miss her, boy. So much.”

Ghost whined again.

“Why did I do it?” Jon asked, “why did I kill her?”

Ghost did nothing, but Jon continued, “She was losing everything. She lost Rhaegal, she lost Missandei, she lost most of her men fighting the fucking dead, and what did I do? I turned her away, cutting her off when she needed me the most. What happened was my fault. All of it. King’s Landing burned because of me. All those people died because of me.”

Jon stood at that moment, tears streaming from his eyes. “I LOVED HER, AND I KILLED HER! WHY?”

The winds howled, but it only served to make Jon angrier. “WHY WAS I BROUGHT BACK? WHY? YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE!”

Jon fell to his knees, clutching his face, sobbing. Ghost rubbed his head into Jon’s side. “I miss her. I want her back. I want to tell her I love her. I want to tell her that I didn’t mean any of it. I want her back!”

Jon continued sobbing for a while, pouring all of his self-hatred, guilt and sorrow into his tears. Ghost remained at his side, not moving, just being there, providing silent support as his master eventually cried himself into exhaustion.

Jon, wiping tears from his face and sighing, turned and went back into his tent. He made no move to remove his clothes and simply fell onto his bed, stroking the side of it, desperately trying to remember what she felt like. Her soft silver-blonde hair. Her petite, but supple body. The roundness of her breasts. Her moans as they made love. The sweet sound of her laughter when they joked afterwards.

He closed his eyes tightly, willing the images to stay at the forefront of his mind forever.

 _‘Dany,’_ he thought sadly, _‘my love, I’m so sorry.’_

He continued to stroke the empty side of his bed before he eventually fell asleep.

He dreamed of nothing but Dany. He would do so every night until the day he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Lords and Ladies,  
> This is my first official fanfiction, so go easy on me :) My prose may be garbage, but, oh well, I tried, at least.
> 
> I've seen the requests for a story about Jon and Dany's reunion post 8x06, so i'd thought i'd throw this little thing together.
> 
> After watching season 8, I couldn't help but feel like it was all rushed. I feel like that the show could have gone on for at least another two seasons, but, at least we got an ending, people may not like it, but it's an ending anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Far to the east, a Hall glowed with light. The room was dimly lit, but you could see banners embroidered with a flaming heart hanging from the walls. A group of hooded priests chanted in a strange language, circling a stone altar stood in the middle of the room. On the table rested an object, wrapped in cloth. The object was still, but the bindings around it glowed in tune with the priests’ call. The altar was surrounded with grooves on the floor which were filled with oil.

  
Outside of the group, a woman, also clothed in red, washed her hands in oil. Her black hair flowed down her back, and a necklace, encrusted with a red gem, hung around her neck. She was also murmuring quietly as she rinsed her hands. Her name was Kinvara, a high priestess of R’hllor.

  
Behind her, a host of people were congregated, kneeling, their heads bowed low.

  
Kinvara turned to them. “Lord of Light!” she called out in High Valyrian, “Hear our prayers!”

  
“For the Night is dark and full of terrors,” the crowd chanted back. The response was changed slightly by both the different accents and languages of the people assembled, but the meaning was the same.

  
Kinvara raised her oil-soaked hands. “Lord, cast your light upon us!”

  
“For the Night is dark and full of terrors!” the crowd repeated. The torches spread out throughout the room suddenly lit, and people called out in wonder. The priests surrounding the altar were in turn surrounded by a ring of fire, but they gave it no notice and continued chanting.

  
Kinvara then turned, hands still raised, and walked towards them slowly. She walked without fear, towards the fire and passed through, making sure that her hands weren’t caught aflame. She passed the priests, who quietened their chants as she approached the altar. She placed a hand on the bindings and began to unwrap them. They were only meant to preserve the body until they were prepared. She removed them carefully and threw them into the fire, soon revealing what lay underneath.

  
Even in death, Daenerys Targaryen still looked beautiful. Her skin was pale and cold, but it took nothing away from her natural beauty. Her silver hair, once in a braid, lay fanned behind her. They had removed her clothes when they brought her, and so she now lay naked on the altar. A single wound lay on her chest, directly over her heart.

  
Kinvara ran her hand over the wound, coating it in oil, before she then drew symbols on her feet, her hands, her stomach and her forehead. She then stepped back and placed her hands on the altar.

  
“We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness!” she then cried out.

  
“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” the crowd chanted back.

  
“We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out!”

  
“For the night is dark and full of terrors,” they repeated, their voices growing louder.

  
“From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life!”

  
“For the night is dark and full of terrors!” They were on their feet now, calling loudly.

  
“We beseech you, Lord, to breathe your light into one of the ones who were promised!”

  
“For the night is dark and full of terrors!”

  
Kinvara stepped back as the fire from the ring began to surge inwards, running across the floor towards the altar. When it reached it, the flames surrounded it and rose upwards. The oil which marked Daenerys’s body was set alight, marking her body with fiery symbols, symbols written in a long-forgotten language.

  
The people continued to chant as the fire kept burning. Kinvara also added her voice to the cries as well, pleading with the Lord to allow Daenerys to live. She was the Princess who was promised, just as Jon Snow was the Prince who was promised.

  
Melisandre had informed them of Jon when she returned to the Temple of Light in Volantis briefly, before she left, claiming that there was something she had to do to combat the Other. She had never returned, and they had honoured her sacrifice.

  
A roar briefly drew Kinvara’s attention away to the doors. Drogon, Daenerys’s dragon, lay outside, as he did for the past two days, whilst they got everything ready. He had been there ever since he returned from his hunt, the day he arrived with Daenerys.

* * *

It had been a normal day in the city of Meereen, as Kinvara was leading a time of worship in the temple. However, thirty minutes into the sermon, the familiar screech of one of Daenerys’s dragons was heard overhead.

They ran outside to see the biggest dragon, Drogon, circling the city, with something clutched in his talons. He circled the city three more times before he dropped to the ground softly in front of the Temple. He let out a mournful wail, shaking his head from side to side, releasing a short blast of fire. As Kinvara looked on with sadness, spotting the limp silver-haired form of Daenerys with a dagger sticking out from her chest. Drogon placed her body carefully on the ground, before he nudged it forward slowly, towards her.

  
Kinvara could see in the dragon’s eyes what he wanted her to do. He backed off from the body, allowing several of the priests to move forward and bear her inside. Kinvara, before she went inside, approached him, raising one of her hands to his jaw.

  
“Do not fear, great Dragon," she soothed. "Her story isn’t over yet.”

  
The dragon gave what she approximated to be a nod before he took off, the gust of wind he projected as he rose knocking many people off of their feet.

* * *

  
Kinvara brought her attention back from the doors and back to Daenerys’s body, which was beginning to glow slightly, encased by the raging flames which surrounded her.

  
This showed progress, but they still continued chanting nevertheless, as she had not awoken. The Lord of Light would heal her body, but her spirit was another matter. Kinvara prayed her light would return.

* * *

* * *

  
Pain!

  
Grey eyes!

  
Pain!

  
Those were the only thoughts running through Daenerys’s mind. She had taken the city, laid low her enemies, but Jon, her Jon, snatched it all away from her. He kissed her, kissed her lovingly, before he drove his dagger into her heart.

  
She had recoiled in shock, looking down to see the dagger implanted in her chest. She looked up at Jon, who was crying, disgust radiating from his eyes, as he held her. She had spent her last moments looking up at the man she loved as her life ebbed from her. She had died in his arms.

  
_‘Only,’_ she then thought, _‘why am I not dead?’_

  
She had envisioned the afterlife to be simply a bright light, but she was laying in a bed. Their bed, she then realised. This was her room aboard the ship where they gave themselves to each other. _‘At least, I thought we did,’_ she thought bitterly, _‘I gave myself to him.’_

  
Anger coursed through her mind. How dare he? It wasn’t enough to break her heart, he had to kill her as well? She would have given him everything she had, but no, he had to end up being the hidden Targaryen. He had to tell his sisters the truth, no matter how fiercely she begged him not to. She shook her head then. It wasn’t Jon’s fault he was born a Targaryen. He spent his whole life under a lie. A necessary lie perhaps, but a lie nonetheless. It was, however, Jon’s fault that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

 

Truth be told, besides from the matters of succession, she loved the fact that he was a Targaryen. She loved the fact that she was no longer alone.

  
She sat up, removing the covers to find herself in the clothes that she wore during the Battle of King’s Landing. She felt instantly for the wound that Jon had inflicted, but she found nothing, only unbroken skin. Sighing, she pulled herself out of the bed. She walked over to the window and looked out, but all she could see was darkness.

  
_‘What is this?’_ she then thought confusedly.

  
“Nowhere, sweet sister.”

  
Dany spun on the spot to see two people stood on the other side of the room. One was a woman, wearing a blue Dornish dress. She had flowing dark brown hair, which was styled in a northern braid. She was smiling at her warmly. The other was a man, tall, but lean, and was dressed in clothes which all bore the sigil of House Targaryen. A finely made sword hung at his waist. His silver blonde hair held in a small ponytail, with the rest flowing over his ears. His violet eyes shone with love, so unlike the cruel eyes of her brother, Viserys.

  
“R-Rhaegar?” she asked hesitantly.

  
He nodded, smiling. He opened his arms and she flew into them. He closed his arms around her into a tight hug. Dany started sobbing; she couldn’t help it. Everything she had bottled in was suddenly released; the loss she felt for her family and friends, the heartbreak she felt at Jon’s betrayal, the love she still felt for him.

  
Yes, she still loved him, despite everything he had done. She weeped for what might have been; a life, full of happiness, with him.

  
She eventually drew back to see them both still smiling at her. She turned to the woman. “Who are you?” she asked brokenly, wiping away her tears.

  
Her smile faded for a second, but quickly returned. “My name is Lyanna. Lyanna Stark.”

  
Dany’s eyes widened and a brief spike of anger coursed through her. “You’re Jon’s mother?”

  
Lyanna nodded, but Rhaegar answered. “We’re his parents, yes, sister. We’re here to help you.”

  
Dany laughed savagely and gestured around. “What’s there to help with? I’m dead!”

  
“Yes, you are,” Rhaegar admitted softly, “you died in the throne room in the arms of our son.”

  
Dany stepped back and turned away, fighting a fresh set of tears from falling.

  
“Sister,” Rhaegar then called out, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Do not blame him.”

  
“Blame him?” Dany seethed, her voice growing louder, “HE MURDERED ME!” She pushed herself forwards, ripping herself out of her brother’s grip. Her shoulder ached slightly, but it was nothing compared to the ache she felt in her once whole heart.

  
“No, sister. He didn’t. He saved you.”

  
“SAVED ME?” she screamed, “HOW IS A DAGGER IN THE HEART SAVING ME?!?”

  
“He saved you from what you were becoming!” cried Lyanna. “You burned a city down, Daenerys!”

  
“CERSEI WAS MY ENEMY! SHE, AND ANYONE WHO FOLLOWED HER, NEEDED TO DIE!”

  
“The children, born ignorant of the game? The mothers, who held them as they burned?” questioned Rhaegar, “Did they need to die?”

  
She was about to yell the affirmative before something clicked in her mind and she stumbled back, face paling. “No,” she mumbled, and Rhaegar nodded. “No,” he confirmed, “they didn’t. The city surrendered, Daenerys, and you killed them all anyway.”

  
Pieces were beginning to fall into place. Her memory of the battle was foggy, at best, but now it was coming back to her. The fires spreading. The buildings falling. The bells ringing. The people screaming.  
She raised her hands to her eye level, flexing them. “W-What have I-I done?” she then stammered out, eyes widening in horror.

  
Rhaegar hugged her again, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “You did what you thought was best, Daenerys. You’ve endured and lost so much, with little room in your life for love or happiness. Everybody has their breaking point, and you reached yours.”

  
He then raised her face so she was looking straight at him. “Jon saw this. He saw it all, so he did what he thought was best. He didn’t kill you out of disgust or hatred. He killed you for love. He loves you so much. You should see him now. He’s broken, sister. He hates himself now.”

  
“He doesn’t love me,” Dany rebutted, shaking her head, “he never did.”

  
“No, Daenerys,” Lyanna then replied, “he does, and he always will do. The way things were going, the people would have risen up against you, and you would have died slowly and painfully. Why do you think Jon went for the heart? He didn’t want you to suffer.”

  
Dany’s mind was racing as she considered what her brother and sister in law were saying. She thought back to the Walkers. The unspoken agreement between everyone was that if they died, that they would be burned to prevent them from coming back as a wight. What Jon did was similar. He killed her to save her from becoming a monster, that which she wanted so desperately to avoid. Tears once again began to flow, and she found herself being comforted by both of them. They wrapped her in a hug, allowing her to grieve for everything that had happened.

  
In that moment, she forgave him. The disgust in his eyes that she saw as she died wasn’t for her, it was for him. The vaunted Stark honour instilled in him by the man who raised him taught him to do the right thing, no matter how much he hated himself for doing it.

  
_‘Oh my love,’_ she thought sadly, _‘what have I done to you?’_

  
He never betrayed her; he always did what he thought was right. He let the Wildlings through the Wall because he believed it was the right thing to do. He was murdered for it, but he said he’d do it again, despite the consequences.

  
He came to Dragonstone, seeking her aid, knowing that she could have him killed, because he believed it was the right thing to do.

  
He bent the knee to her, promising her his support, even in front of Cersei, because he believed it was the right thing to do. It cost them her support, but he still did it.

  
He told his sisters of his heritage because he believed it was the right thing to do. He wanted them to support her, but Sansa merely used it against him, betraying his trust and setting the wheels in motion which led to her death.

  
She continued sobbing for what seemed like forever before she eventually regained control over herself. “I love him,” she said firmly, before her face dropped again. “And I’ll never be able to tell him.”

  
“No, sweet sister,” replied Rhaegar, smiling widely. “There may be a chance.”

  
Her gaze shot up and sharpened. “H-How?”

  
“It’s happening right now, Daenerys,” replied Lyanna, “Drogon brought you to safety, and the followers of R’hllor are trying to bring you back, just as one of them did for Jon.”

  
“I-I can go back?”

  
Lyanna nodded. “It’s your choice, Daenerys. You will carry Jon’s wound for the rest of your life, but yes, you will be alive again. Or,” she said, as she gestured to the door, “you can go through there and pass on into the afterlife, where everyone else awaits you.”

  
Dany’s gaze flickered to the door. Missandei was on the other side of that door. Her children were on the other side of that door. Drogo was on the other side of the door, presumably waiting like he promised her all those years ago.

  
“Like Lyanna said, sister, it’s your choice. You can go back and live the rest of your life with Jon, or you can come and join us.”

  
“But Jon would be alone?”

  
Rhaegar nodded. “Yes, Daenerys, he would.”

  
Dany’s brow furrowed for several minutes before she shook her head wildly. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, “I don’t know!”

  
Lyanna cupped her cheek. “I can’t say I’m not furiously biased, but I should tell you, ‘Death pays for life’.” Her hand then moved down to Dany’s stomach before she patted it gently. Dany’s eyes widened and Lyanna nodded.

“Really?” she asked amazingly. “I could give him—”

  
Lyanna nodded. “Yes, Daenerys, you could, if you went back.”

  
Dany’s gaze flickered from the bed to the door. She then remembered something Jon had told her.

* * *

  
Dany laughed as Jon tickled her bare foot. They had remained in bed for nearly half the day, basking in the feeling of finally being together.

 

Jon, who was as naked as his nameday, same as her, turned to face her. “You know,” he quipped, “you’re not the first Targaryen I’ve ever met.”

  
Dany raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  
“The Maester at Castle Black was named Aemon Targaryen. He was your great uncle.”

  
Dany frowned. “Was?”

  
“Old age finally caught up with him. He died several years before you sailed for Westeros. I’m sorry.”

  
Dany sighed and closed her eyes, before she reopened them and looked to him. “What was he like?” she asked gently.

  
Jon smiled. “He was blind, but it didn’t dim his caring personality. He was the one who swung the vote to make me Lord Commander. He spoke of you often. He hated the fact that he couldn’t go to you, but he often heard of your exploits in Essos and sung your praises.”

  
“Why didn’t he come? I would have welcomed him with open arms.”

  
“He said that he was a Master of the Citadel, bound in service to Castle Black, that he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. He once told me, ‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.’”  
She nodded sadly. “Indeed it is.”

* * *

  
“Indeed it is,” Dany then said aloud, bringing herself out of her thoughts.

  
Rhaegar and Lyanna were still smiling at her.

  
Dany decided. She turned to them; a resolute expression plastered on to her face.

  
“I know where I want to go.”

* * *

* * *

  
The people had been chanting for nearly twenty minutes. Kinvara could hear the fatigue in their voices, but they continued anyway, as did she.

  
However, the flames soon increased to an even higher level, bathing the whole area in a golden light. The chants stopped and people stared in wonder. The flames continued for several more seconds before they disappeared entirely, causing a few gasps of shock.

  
The temple remained quiet. Nobody made any sound barely above a whisper. They waited with bated breath, for any sign of life.

  
A roar then surged up from behind them, causing many people to jump. This roar was different, though, compared to the others. Ever since he had arrived, Drogon’s calls had been full of sadness and mourning. This one, however, was jubilant, and the flames from his mouth shot past the stained-glass windows of the temple, bathing the room in a red and orange glow.

  
A loud breath was then heard.

  
Followed by another.

  
And another.

  
Daenerys Targaryen rose from the altar, breathing heavily, raising a hand to her wound, but there was only one thing that mattered.

  
She was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you honestly think I wasn't going to bring her back?
> 
> I read up all I could on Jon's ritual and the Lord of Light's religion and came up with the best thing I could.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> P.S. Sorry about the edits. Ao3 changed several things when I forwarded it from my document over to the site.


	3. Chapter 3

Dany felt weird. There was no other word for it. She was alive, but she could feel the wound which marked her heart. When she inhaled and exhaled, she felt it. When she moved, she could feel the wound moving with her.

_‘Is this how Jon felt?’_ she wondered. If so, she was going to kiss those scars every day for the rest of their lives, along with everything else of his, she thought, with a blush. She then remembered everything that had happened, and she frowned. _‘It was too much to hope it was a bad dream,’_ she thought wearily. She had lost Missandei, Rhaegal and many others and it had driven her into madness, causing her to level King’s Landing, forcing Jon to kill her to prevent her from doing any more damage.

Her heart seized when she thought of him. He was alone now. _‘But where?’_ she then thought worriedly. He could be anywhere in Westeros, and even on Drogon, it could take months to find him, months that she didn’t have. Her actions most likely have turned everyone against her, so if she was seen, men could be sent after her. She knew Drogon would protect her, but, as Jorah said, _‘All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow. He’ll see your silver hair and know that one well-placed bolt will make him a hero,’_ so she knew she had to be quick, minimising any possible sightings of her.

She no longer wanted the Iron Throne, nor to rule. She didn’t want or deserve it. Her conversation with her brother and sister in law greatly changed her priorities. She only wanted Jon. He was the only other person in the world who was like her. _‘Even more similar,’_ she chuckled to herself, _‘now that we share the same experiences.’_

A flash of red then drew her attention to a red priestess, Kinvara, if she remembered correctly, who strode forwards and handed her a set of clothes, which in turn, drew her to the fact that she was naked. She gasped slightly before she quickly changed into the clothes. It was merely a standard dress, accompanied by a pair of breeches. The dress showed quite a lot of her cleavage, but they would do for now.

Kinvara bowed. “My Queen,” she greeted, but Dany shook her head. “I’m nobody’s queen now, priestess.”

“To Westeros, yes, but to us, no.”

Dany then looked around the hall, before her eyes widened. “This is Meereen,” she breathed out, shocked.

Kinvara nodded. “Your dragon brought you to us. We then beseeched the Lord of Light for his breath, which he gave to you.”

Dany’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded and smiled. There was no time for petty arguments. She found what Melisandre, another one of the priestesses, did was despicable, but Kinvara had done her no such wrongs, at least, not to her knowledge. “Thank you, Priestess Kinvara. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

Kinvara bowed. “No thanks necessary, my Queen. You are the Princess who was Promised.”

Dany swung herself off of the altar and stood, stretching. Her bones felt stiff, but then again, she was dead. It was then she took in the fact that the temple she was in was occupied.

The people of Meereen stood looking at her in awe. She remembered several of their faces from when they petitioned her whilst she ruled Meereen. Still, she would rule no more. She had to get to Jon. She walked forward, through the assembled crowds, giving them an uneasy smile. The doors were opened as she approached them and was immediately greeted with the face of her beloved Drogon, who was staring straight at her.

She smiled widely and approached him. He roared softly as she reached him, and she ran a hand over his jaw, before resting her forehead against his snout. “Thank you, Drogon, for bringing me here. I will never forget it.”

Drogon let out a puff of smoke and Dany laughed before she nuzzled him again. She had half a mind to mount him immediately and take off, but she turned back to the temple to find Kinvara stood a few paces away.

Dany stepped over to her. “Have you received any word from Westeros?”

Kinvara nodded. “Yes, my Queen. The Iron Throne has been destroyed, and the Great Lords elected Brandon the Broken as their new king. Tyrion Lannister serves as his hand.”

“Bran is king?” she asked, partially in shock. She knew Jon would never take the throne, as he alluded to multiple times. Bran’s gifts, however, would provide a serious advantage, by the way that he could see everything. She even toyed with the possibility of him helping her when she took the throne, but it is never to be. She doesn’t belong in power; she sees that now. Tyrion, she felt indifferent about. He had made mistakes, costly mistakes, during his tenure as her Hand. But he had a good heart. He cared about people, a quality she had somehow forgotten. Perhaps there were godly beings pulling strings and making stories of their lives. She’d love to introduce them to Drogon if she ever got her hands on them.

“What else?”

“The North has seceded from the Seven Kingdoms and Sansa Stark now rules as Queen of the North. Your Dothraki are returning to the Dothraki Sea, and the Unsullied sail for the island of Narth.”

Dany blinked as she absorbed the information. The fact that Sansa was Queen in the North wasn’t surprising, as that was what she wanted all along, and her brother would be loath to defy her, three-eyed raven or not. A spike of anger rose however, when she thought of Jon’s sister. If she hadn’t have said anything, Tyrion and Varys would never have known, and things could have turned out differently. She was pleased, however, that the Dothraki were returning home, as they didn’t belong in Westeros. She had foolishly been following her brother’s plan that the Dothraki would win her the throne, whereas the support she really needed was always in Westeros. She felt a great pang of sadness over the Unsullied though. Grey Worm was most likely taking Missandei’s body home. She wished she could say something to lessen his pain, but the pain of losing one you love is not easy to get over. A tear fell from her eyes and down her face. She looked down to see it fall from her face and hit the ground. She missed Missandei greatly. She was something akin to a sister, the only sister she’d ever had. Her loss devastated her even now.

Wiping the errant tear away, she looked back up. “And what of Jon Snow? What happened to him?”

Kinvara frowned. “For your murder, he was sentenced to life at the Wall, to serve as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. However, word has recently reached us that he has deserted his post, leaving with the Wildlings as they crossed the Wall and went home.”

Dany sighed sadly. _‘Oh my love, I’m so sorry.’_ She went mad and Jon was punished for stopping it. He was now alone beyond the Wall. His family has deserted him, sentencing him to a life he already died once for. Another spike of anger rose in her, directed at not just Sansa, but all the Starks. _‘Honour my arse,’_ she thought savagely.

She shook her shoulders. She knows what to do now.

She nodded to Kinvara. “Thank you for everything. You probably won’t see me again.”

Dany expected her to be saddened, but she merely shot her a knowing smile and bowed. “I understand, my Queen. I wish you the best.”

“Thank you.”

Kinvara bowed again before she retreated from Drogon, leaving Dany alone. Drogon grumbled, but Dany shook her head. “I know what he did,” she expressed soothingly to him, “but he loves me just as much as I love him.”

Drogon grumbled again, but he dropped his shoulder.

Before she could climb him, however, a familiar voice called to her from behind.

“My Queen! My Queen!”

Dany, annoyed at the interruption, turned to see none other than Daario Naharis rapidly approaching her. His face was gaunt, but tears of relief shone on his cheeks. He looked older than the last time they spoke, as Dany could see flecks of grey beginning to appear in his hair and beard.

Dany then blushed slightly, remembering their escapades together, but soon recovered. She belonged to Jon now, and he belonged to her.

Drogon, sensing the beginnings of her discomfort, growled and Daario stopped several paces from her.

He knelt. “My Queen,” he greeted proudly.

She shook her head, causing him to frown. “Not anymore.”

“Why?” he shouted, gesturing around, “I’ve kept this city safe for you ever since you left!”

“Well, you needn’t bother anymore. I release you and the Second Suns from your oaths.”

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. To her surprise, Daario merely smiled and took another step towards her, ignoring Drogon’s warning growl. “Then, perhaps, could we assume our previous arrangement?” His voice dripped with lust. Dany, however, was unaffected by his sweet words now. She had someone, and gods be damned if she was ever going to let him go.

She shook her head. “I think not, captain.” Her insides twinged a little at the look of surprise and sadness that crossed his face, but her face remained resolute. She cocked her head. “You’ve probably bedded a thousand women since we last talked, captain. Find one of them to satisfy your urges.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but Drogon snapped his jaws angrily, silencing him before he uttered a syllable. He shook his head, but Dany turned away, having had enough of him. He was an outlet, nothing more. She never felt anything for him.

Drogon dropped his shoulder again and she climbed on. The clothes she was wearing would ill suit her in the North, but she hoped Jon or the Wildlings would give her warmer ones. She settled in her riding position and looked out over the many people that surrounded her. They gave her confused looks.

“Mhysa!” one then cried out, outreaching his hand to her.

“Mhysa!” another then called.

The cries grew and grew, and the more they threatened Dany’s resolve. They were still technically her people. She couldn’t leave them like this, so, she rose to her fullest height and proclaimed, in Valyrian, “I am your mother no longer! You do not need me, nor anybody else to lead you. Lead yourselves!” The crowds cried out again, but she wouldn’t let it get to her. She needed to find Jon, no matter how many people cried out to her, nor how much they pleaded.

Steeling herself, she grasped Drogon’s spikes firmly and yelled, “Sōvegon!”

Drogon roared in response before he launched himself into the sky, gigantic wings flapping furiously as he gained height. When they cleared the city, Drogon tilted forward, aiming to the east, where a strong prevailing wind hurried them along, and they soon cleared Slaver’s Bay.

_‘Hold on, my love,’_ she begged mentally, _‘I’m coming!’_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to the S8 soundtrack, The Master of War, as I wrote this. The end of it will haunt me forever, I swear.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed, and still Jon made no effort to leave his solitude. His food supplies were running low, but Jon only ate sparsely and made no effort to get more. In the few hours that he managed to sleep, he only dreamed of Dany, but images flashing of her face as he stabbed her frequently woke him. Ghost came and went, leaving to go hunting or whatever he does, but he always came back and sat next to Jon as he continued to lose himself to his misery.

The rise in the levels of the noise from below indicated that more Wildlings must be joining them. Jon, once again, made no effort to go down there and greet them, instead preferring to sit staring into the fire, but taking no warmth from it.

He was such a fool. If he had just set aside his stupid fucking honour just one time, Dany would still be alive. Fuck what his family says. Fuck what Tyrion said. Fuck what the Great Lords say. Fuck what the entire continent says. He would trade anything to get one more moment with her. Just one last time to hold her in his arms.

As he continued to stare into the fire, a thought that was going through his head resurfaced, one of betrayal. Bran, for all his foresight, couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him what was going to happen to her. And now, Dany is dead, he is all but so, and now Bran rules the Seven Kingdoms, no, Six Kingdoms. Sansa, the sister who betrayed him and his secret to Tyrion, ruled the North now as it’s Queen, while he was sent to the Wall for practically ripping his own heart out. He couldn’t help but feel like everyone had won but him. Well, that was his fault too. Besides Dany, he wanted nothing, so he got nothing. 

His gaze moved up slightly to see the Wall in the far distance. The lands between the fist and the Wall were low, so Jon, on a clear day, could see the towering form of it. He once looked upon the Wall and the Night’s Watch as an honourable calling, but it had brought him nothing but pain. His father and brother died while he was with the Night’s Watch. Ygritte died while he was in the Night’s Watch. He died while he was in the Night’s Watch. He had left, deciding that he gave his life defending the wall, but he now found himself back where he started. He would keep to his vows, but he wasn’t going to do it in the place that he was murdered.

A scuffle was then heard over towards the entrance to the slope that led up to him. Jon paid it no mind. Perhaps it was Tormund or one of the other Freefolk. Perhaps it was the Night King, resurrected, come to kill him at last. He chuckled dryly at the last one. It would be ironic, would it not? All that suffering and death to kill him, and yet he came back anyway. He wouldn’t fight him. He’d let him roll over everything that still lived, as long as Jon would finally die. He’d see his mother and fathers. He’d see Robb, Edd, Pyp, Grenn even Theon. He’d see Dany.

Another tear dripped down his face, but he made no move to wipe it off. The tear hung from his jaw for a few seconds before it dropped to the ground, landing in the snow.

A very familiar gruff voice called out to him. He knew it was Tormund, but he made no move to acknowledge him. He heard Tormund’s giant feet stomping over to him, before he entered his vision, taking a seat opposite him, warming his hands on the fire. He had several bags slung over his shoulder.

Tormund looked at him. “Still brooding I see?” he chuckled, but when Jon didn’t respond, all traces of his bearded smile faded from his face.

Tormund leaned forward slightly. “Jon!” he called out, waving his hand, trying to get his attention.

Jon’s eyes made the briefest of flicks to Tormund, who took it at a sign he was listening.

He then continued, “People keep arriving, and we number almost four thousand now. We’ve decided to stay here together, at least for now.”

Jon shrugged absentmindedly. “They’re your people,” he remarked in response. His voice was very low, but still understandable.

Tormund eyed him. “No, they’re our people now. You’re one of us, Snow, so just accept it.”

“I don’t care.”

Tormund frowned sadly. “Listen, a few of them want to talk to you, to thank you for what you did.”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Fine,” sighed Tormund, before he stood and placed the sacks on the ground. “This is enough food to last you at least a week, as well as some extra furs and logs to keep you warm. I’ll come again with more.”

Jon made no move to thank him, so Tormund stood. He looked at him with a combination of pity and worry. “I’ve never told you this, Snow, but I love you like a brother. You were one of the only people south of the Wall who strove to protect us. You gave your life to protect us, and then continued to risk it after you came back. The others feel the same.”

Tormund then turned to leave, but turned back when he heard him mutter brokenly, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you love me?” Tears started to slide down his cheeks. “Why would anyone? Everybody I love leaves me. I loved my parents, and they died. I loved my siblings, but they died or betrayed me, or left. I loved Dany,” he hiccupped with a sob, “but I killed her, in the name of doing the right fucking thing.”

He looked to Tormund, cheeks glistening. “Why would anyone love me when everything around me dies?”

Tormund ran a hand over his beard. “Because you’ve saved a hell of a lot more than have died around you. I can’t speak for the Southerners, but what I do know is that those people down there,” he motioned over the cliff face, “are alive right now, are safe right now, because of you. There are thousands of people south who are alive because of you.”

Jon shook his head, but Tormund quickly added, “I don’t care. Wallow in your grief all you want, but I’m damned if I don’t let every bastard I see know that you’re a fucking hero, Snow.”

He strode away at that point, soon disappearing from view.

Jon remained as he was for several more minutes before he stood, muscles groaning from disuse and made his way over to the discarded bags. As Tormund promised, there was food, furs and wood in there, accompanied by a freefolk outfit which somebody must have made for him. He stowed the food and wood away in his tent, before he added the furs to his bed. He left the clothes in a bag and threw to the side. He left the tent and resumed his position, staring into the fire. He would wear the black clothes of the Night’s Watch forever. It wasn’t a symbol of his vows; it was a symbol of his heart and of everything he had lost.

Later into the day, snow began to fall, once again blanketing the land in a coat of soft white. _‘Like Dany’s coat,_ ’ he remembered. She had worn that outfit during most of her time in the North.

Jon then decided that he hated the snow, but he made no move to brush it off. He simply sat there, allowing it to cover him. Maybe, if he imagined hard enough, he could see her in her coat smiling at him, just as she did at the waterfall.

No such images came, and he finally relented after an hour, just after the sun had gone down. He brushed the snow off and walked inside his tent. He ate a few bites of some sourdough bread before he dropped himself onto his bed. As usual, he focused on the image of Dany, straining to remember everything he could, before he fell asleep.

Surprisingly, he slept through the night, his first in a long while. His nightmares had no opportunity to trouble him, as he was deeply ensconced within his dream. He dreamt of Dany, riding Drogon. He smiled in his sleep when he saw her silver blonde hair flowing in the wind. He remembered how much he loved to run his hands through it. He dreamed that she was coming to him, for him. But his mind told him otherwise. She was dead. If she was flying, she would be in the afterlife, where he could never harm her.

When he woke midway into the morning, he ate a few bites of food before he left his tent to be greeted with a sight that caused him to be extremely angry.

A flock of ravens were gathered outside his tent. They weren’t making any sounds, they were just staring at him weirdly, one of them flapping their wings impatiently every few seconds. Jon didn’t need any other evidence to prove who was behind it.

“Bran,” he growled, “leave me alone.”

The birds cawed lightly but didn’t move. Jon cursed loudly. His brother was listening. He drew Longclaw, holding it in one of his hands. He twirled it aggressively. “Leave me alone, brother,” he repeated, voice getting sharper by the second.

One of the ravens flew forward, landing a few inches from him. A letter was tied to its leg. Sighing, he stooped down and removed the letter. The raven, once relieved of the letter, flew back to its compatriots and resumed staring.

Jon unfurled the scroll, cursing once again when he recognised the handwriting. Tyrion. It read;

_Aegon of the House Targaryen,_

_You stand charged with desertion. The normal sentence would be death, but his grace the King offers you a second chance. Leave the wildlings and journey back to the Wall, and all will be forgiven. Do not, and we will be forced to declare you a fugitive, to be killed on sight._

_Jon, please, don’t do this. The Daenerys we both knew and loved wouldn’t want this. I may be able to get you out of there, but you need to trust me._

_Regards,_

_Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King_

Jon laughed loudly, his first since Dany died. Sufficed to say, he didn’t believe anything that poured out of Tyrion’s mouth now, after what happened, but, then again, he allowed himself to be egged on by Tyrion’s words. They made so much sense at the time, but now the words were naught but hollow and cruel. The ravens let out a pleading squawk, causing Jon to cease his laughter and turn back to them, scowling. He levelled Longclaw at the nearest raven.

“Now, you listen to me, your grace or whatever the fuck you are, I will not spend my life at the Wall. I will not return. You want me, you’ll have to find me, but be warned, I will kill every single fucking person you send.”

The ravens still didn’t move, so Jon lost it.

“WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME!” he yelled, spit flying. “I GAVE MY LIFE TO SAVE ALL YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCKERS! I GAVE UP MY HEART—” tears started flowing, “TO SAVE YOU ALL! I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

When they still didn’t move, Jon roared and swung Longclaw, slicing one of them in half. He made to kill another, but the whole lot of them took flight and left for the south. Jon, grumbling, sheathed his sword. “Good riddance,” he mumbled darkly, wiping the tears that still remained on his face away.

He turned back inside his tent and brought out some more wood to relight and sustain his fire. After it was lit, Jon resumed the same position as before, still mumbling. As far as he was concerned, he was dead to the whole lot of them. If they wanted to find him, he’d wait right here, and greet them with Longclaw in their guts.

“But would you really?” a soft voice called out to him. Jon shot up and turned around frantically. That was the voice that filled his dreams and haunted his nightmares.

“D-Dany?” he called out shakily.

Nothing but the howl of the wind replied to him, whipping past his face and through his hair. Sighing heavily, he turned and sat back down. After a few moments, he started chuckling. _‘Now she haunts my waking hours as well,’_ he thought amusedly before he snorted. The world wasn’t done laying out his punishment yet. Now his mind would torture him with her voice, raising his hopes, but soon bringing them crashing down.

He rested his elbows on his legs and cradled his head for several minutes. He rubbed his forehead, trying to reduce his daily oncoming headache.

“What’s wrong, my love?” the hallucination called out to him again.

Jon rubbed his head more furiously. He now wasn’t sure if he died with Dany in King’s Landing or not, because this sure sounded like Hell.

As the day wore on, Dany’s warm voice continued to taunt him, driving the pain from his headache up. By the time it had reached noon, Jon’s head was pounding, and his temper was growing extremely short.

“Jon! I’m coming!” the hallucination called out to him, and he stood quickly and looked to the skies. “NOT YOU’RE NOT!” he screamed, “YOU NEVER WILL, SO LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He sank to his knees again. “You won’t,” he then mumbled hoarsely to the ground. “because I killed you.”

The next sound that greeted him, however, wasn’t the sound of Dany. It was the roar of a dragon.

Jon’s eyes narrowed as he kept his gaze trained on the floor. _‘Now it’s Viserion?’_ he thought brokenly, _‘here to punish me for foolishly leading him to his death? Or is it Rhaegal, come to haunt me for not being there when he needed me the most. Or,’_ he thought, with a tint of satisfaction, _‘is it Drogon, the real one, here to finally kill me for what I did?’_

Out of all of them, he hoped it was the latter.

The roar happened again, inside or outside his mind, he did not know.

If Jon had raised his head to the sky, even if for just a moment, he might have seen a gigantic black dragon circling high above, slowly drifting down to land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may or may not be the one you all want to see.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one, though!


	5. Chapter 5

Dany and Drogon flew hard and fast. They passed over the northernmost point of the Lands of the Long Summer, taking great care to avoid the cities of Tolos, Elyria and Mantarys. They followed the Demon Road for several hundred miles until they neared the city of Volantis.

They would have avoided this city as well, but they had no choice but to approach, as Dany had no rations or supplies to go north with. Dany had cursed herself when her stomach started rumbling. _‘I should have gotten some food from Meereen. Great move, Daenerys.’_ She had been so focused on her destination that she had forgotten about the journey. Thankfully, however, the Temple of Light were only too happy to provide food to her when she came to their door asking, and so they had left soon after, Dany now sporting a medium sized pack strapped to her back, full of bread and spiced ham, along with a pouch of water.

Their brief stop only made their journey that more urgent; Bran would now most likely know of her resurrection, which means that Westeros might be gearing up to get to Jon before she did, as Bran probably knew where’d she go, which was where she always should have been; with Jon.

Drogon had attempted to fly at a greater height to minimise the risk of someone else seeing them, but Dany’s clothes, which were thin at best, weren’t suited for it, so they remained low enough that Dany would stay warm, but high enough to disguise Drogon’s size. If anyone looked at them, they should see naught but a large bird.

They flew through the night. Dany called for Drogon to put down on a small hill a hundred leagues south of Myr, but he had merely shaken his head, expelling a burst of smoke which had Dany coughing, and continued going. Dany had finally leaned forward and rested her eyes just as they passed into the Sea of Myrth, having faith that Drogon would keep her safe when she rested.

Her dreams, however, were frequently plagued with terrible images. Scenes flashed by of children screaming as buildings exploded and the fragments dropped onto their heads. Scenes of mothers and fathers using their own bodies to shield them from the flames and the rubble. Other dreams replaced them, settling her down, but they always returned. Finally, the worst was of Jon plunging his dagger into her heart, eyes radiating with disgust as she fell to the ground.

She surged awake when that particular memory finished, gasping loudly. She put her hand over her heart and rubbed the area as the wound ached slightly, but felt a lot better as she massaged it. She felt a surge of anger at Jon, but quickly downed it with a modicum of self-disgust. It wasn’t his fault.

 _‘That’s the wonderful thing about being dead,’_ she then surmised to herself, _‘the dead can’t be hurt by the living, but the living can be hurt by the dead.’_ She couldn’t help but chuckle, considering what happened in the North. When you killed a wight, you released it from its prison. When the dead killed you, you would be then trapped in the Walkers’ magic. She was thankful that Jorah had died after the Night King fell. She didn’t think she’d have it in her to cut him down, icy blue eyes or not.

She then thought about her reunion with Jon. She would have to stop at the Wall first to get some idea of where the Wildings went. When she eventually caught up to them and him, how should she approach him? Despite what her brother had said, she wanted to hear the words from Jon’s mouth as well.

 _‘But would that be too hard?’_ she then wondered to herself. If Rhaegar’s words were true, Jon was suffering greatly from what he did, and she didn’t want to make it worse. A softer approach, then, at least for now. Answers could wait. However, what would his reaction be? Would he reject her? Would he run away? She didn’t know. Their situation was certainly unique.

She leaned up and examined her surroundings. She was still flying, but now over the sea, but land was easily reachable. The temperature had dropped, so Dany surmised that they must be getting further and further North. She reached down and patted Drogon, who began to circle down, soon landing roughly on a vast plain of grass which extended far to all directions except the south, where it dropped down a cliff to the ocean. She could hear the waves crashing against the cliffside below.

Dany dismounted gracefully, but soon fell to her knees when they didn’t support her when she touched the ground. Her bones still felt strained, but it was a definite improvement from yesterday.

A black-scaled head entered her vision. Dany, smiling gratefully, grasped one of Drogon’s spikes and used it to pull herself to her feet. Dany retreated from Drogon, wobbling slightly as she walked over to a rock protruding from the grass. She sat down on it and pulled her pack from her back. She began to eat and drink as Drogon curled around her, catching a few moments rest while she sated herself. He kept an eye open and trained on her as he rested, loath to let her out of his sight.

After Dany tore through half a load of bread, several slices of ham and nearly half of her water pouch, she put her food away and spent a few moments looking around. They were definitely in the North, perhaps in the far southern reaches of the kingdom, nestled perhaps somewhere near White Harbor, the main northern port. She could see a ship on the horizon, but she could make no estimates as to its Sigil.

Her face warmed when she thought of her arrival to White Harbor when she came north with her armies. She had very nearly missed greeting Lord Manderly’s people, as Jon had dragged her back to their quarters for one last…session before they left the boat. Dany chuckled at the memory and blushed. Ever since Jon had come to her, that first night after they left Dragonstone, they rarely left that room, only emerging if it were strictly necessary. Both Tyrion and Davos expressed their displeasure over the situation, (especially Tyrion, as his quarters were next to theirs) but they gave them no mind and gave them hurried excuses before they left back for their room.

“We should have stayed on that boat,” she then remarked sadly, causing Drogon to raise his head in response. _‘So much would be different if we never left,’_ she continued to herself, _‘so much of what had happened later could have been avoided.’_ She had suggested the idea to Jon, who, ever the Stark, had refused, saying that he had to protect the North. However, he had not said it without a great deal of reluctance, which had practically set Dany aflame, causing her to jump him again.

She shook herself then. They had to get off the boat. If they hadn’t, the Walkers would have rolled over everything living, and neither Jon nor Dany wanted that to happen, no matter how much their hearts argued against it, praying for them to stay. And so they left, and then proceeded to lost almost everything, including each other.

She remained where she was for nearly ten minutes, allowing the sounds of the waves crashing against the shoreline to calm her thrashing nerves. _‘Don’t think about any of it,’_ she reminded herself, _‘I have to find Jon.’_

Drogon’s growl caused her to turn quickly. His head was turned away from her, but his growl only increased in both volume and severity. Dany shouldered her pack and ran around him to see a party of horsemen, perhaps twenty strong, approaching from the north. Dany practically dove behind Drogon and quickly mounted him, breathing heavily. Drogon instantly turned and drew himself to his full height, before he surged forward and dove off of the cliff. They fell for a few seconds before Drogon’s wings caught the wind and they soared up into the sky.

They rapidly gained height and ambled out to sea, putting as much distance as they could between the approaching men and themselves. Once they were at a decent enough height, they then turned and resumed their journey North. Dany knew that Castle Black was towards the middle of the Wall, so they had to cut across the kingdom, making sure they stayed out of range of any castles. She made particular care to not be even within a hundred leagues of Winterfell, as she didn’t know what she’d do if she came across Sansa again.

By the beginning of the afternoon, they had cleared the majority of the North. The only castle left in her way was Last Hearth, the stronghold of the now extinct House Umber. The castle still should be abandoned, but she still took no chances and careened around it to the west, and soon spotted the Kingsroad, which she knew led all the way to Castle Black. They followed it, and soon the Wall grew from the horizon. A castle was soon spotted at the base of it. She examined the keep with interest, as she had heard lots of stories from Jon about it and was interested to see it for herself.

To be honest, it was disappointing to say the least. Jon had said that the castle had fallen into disrepair, but the state of it left much to be desired. The gate was thin, and the walls were weak. Many of the buildings had holes in the roofs.

She patted Drogon, who sent them into a dive, before buffeting his wings and dropping to the ground roughly. Dany was jostled a bit, but she was used to such landings, so she didn’t fall. She dismounted Drogon, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. The temperature had continued to fall as they carried on North and once again her dress was barely suited to the climate. She strode towards the gate, Drogon following her closely.

The gates, to Dany’s surprise, swung open as she approached. She strode inside to see various men looking at her in shock. The largest group of them were dressed in ragged furs and were seemingly preparing to leave through the tunnel. Dany walked over to them, flinching when they moved back. It seems word of what happened even reached the Wildlings.

“Greetings!” she called out to them calmly, “I’m not here to harm you, just to ask you where your main camp is!”

One of them strode forwards, his hand on the hilt of his axe. “What’s it to you, southerner?” he replied gruffly.

Dany was unperturbed. “I’m looking for Jon Snow! I was told he went north with the rest of your people!”

They exchanged startled glances. “What do you want with him?” the man then challenged, “Jon is one of us now!”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she answered softly, her face falling, “I just want to talk to him.”

“You’re supposed to be dead, Dragon Queen,” another then called out, and the group split to reveal a grey-haired man, which Dany recognised as one of Tormund’s friends, a Wildling clan leader. His hair flowed in the wind as he looked over her with a hint of disdain.

Dany nodded, before she showed them her wound. “I was,” she replied sadly, “but I was resurrected, just as he was. I assume you’ve heard what I did down south. Let me assure you, I’m not that person anymore. I never wanted to be that person, and I deeply regret everything I did.” The group shifted nervously, causing Dany to frown.

She locked eyes with the leader. “Please,” she begged, “I’ve flown across the world to find him and I will search every part of the lands Beyond the Wall if I have to, unless you help me.”

The Wildling’s brow furrowed for a moment before he nodded. “Tormund has our people camped at the Fist of the First Men. From what I’ve heard, Snow is there as well.”

She nodded gratefully. She remembered seeing it on her flight to and back from her journey to the frozen lake, where she lost her child, Viserion, and almost lost Jon. She didn’t know the name of it until Jorah had described it to her from Drogon’s back. She almost laughed when she remembered how fiercely she was fighting her feelings for Jon back then, even though it was blatantly obvious to everyone around them.

Bringing her attention back to the Wildling, she nodded again, smiling widely, despite the shivers that wracked through her. “Thank you.”

The Wildling gave her a curt nod before he turned back to his people, who soon made for the tunnel carved under the wall. Dany practically sprinted out of the castle and mounted Drogon, who jumped into the sky. They quickly topped the wall and dropped off the other side of it, gliding down to a respectable height, both because there was nobody who they care who spotted them and to keep Dany as warm as possible.

They flew to the west, before turning north when they came across the Milkwater. They followed it north until the Fist grew out of the horizon. Drogon roared as they approached, announcing their arrival. An unbidden spike of nervousness and jubilation rose up in her when she spotted the field of tents arrayed around it. A single tent lay on top of it, which Dany thought to be curious, but she disregarded it as Drogon roared and slowly descended. Dany immediately began searching the awestruck faces of the Wildlings looking for any sign of the brown curls and grey eyes she had grown to love so fiercely. She frowned when she couldn’t see any sign of them, but a smile soon grew when she spotted the familiar lumbering sight of Tormund Giantsbane running towards them. Drogon finished his descent and dropped to the ground, where Dany shot off of his shoulder just as he dropped it. She fell to the ground, landing on her knees. She shivered even more when the snow covering the ground soaked through her clothes. He pulled herself to her feet and approached Tormund, who immediately drew her into a hug, which she awkwardly reciprocated. She’d never been hugged by a Wildling before, but it was nice to know that she still had some friends, at least.

When Tormund drew back, Dany immediately asked, “Where’s Jon?”

Tormund frowned and pointed up to the top of the fist. “He’s up there, has been since we arrived.” He then fixed her with a questioning stare. “He told me you died. He told me he killed you.”

Dany nodded, pushing her dress down and showing him the open wound. “He did,” she answered honestly, “but Drogon took me to a red priestess, and she revived me.”

Tormund’s eyes widened before he laughed loudly. “You and King Crow, thick as fucking thieves!” he chortled, causing Dany to blush slightly, before she recovered and asked, “How is he?”

Tormund stopped mid laugh and frowned again, deeper than before. “He’s a fucking mess. He’s never left his campsite, not even to get more food. He eats and sleeps sparingly, and he’s in tears more than he’s not. He’s fucking miserable, perfectly content to sit and die up there. I’ve had to resort to taking his food up to him. We’ve even heard him yelling from up there. I think he’s going fucking mad.”

Dany frowned as well, and tears immediately pooled at her eyes. _‘Oh Jon,’_ she thought brokenly. She looked up to Tormund. “Will-will you take me to him?” she asked shakily, both from her nervousness and her low temperature.

Tormund let out a small smile and nodded. “It’s a steep climb,” he warned, “it may be easier to take your dragon up.”

Dany shook her head. “No. I have to do this without Drogon. It has to be just me and him.”

Tormund nodded again. “Fine. Let’s go.” He ran an eye over her clothes though, and quickly changed their destination, leading her away, saying, “You need some proper fucking clothes.”

Dany, in no state to disagree, nodded and followed the giant man through the camp, where she was fixed with stares of shock, and in some cases, suspicion. She tried not to let it get to her as Tormund led her to a tent, one of the larger ones, where they found a group of Wildling women making clothes inside. They all stood as they entered.

Tormund gestured to her. “She needs some furs.” He prodded her forward before he retreated outside.

Dany was then immediately set upon by the women, who quickly got her out of her Essosi dress and helped her don a standard wildling outfit. A thick pair of trousers and a belt to keep them secure was foisted on her, followed by a pair of furry boots and gloves, which she put on immediately, as her hands and feet were suffering the worst from the cold. A thick jerkin with a hood was then thrown over her head and her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. She instantly felt a lot warmer and thanked the women gratefully before she walked outside and presented herself to Tormund, who gave her a once over before he nodded.

He pointed to the left side of the Fist, where Dany could see a small groove set into the side, which led all the way up to the top. “This way,” Tormund directed, and set off at a sharp pace, Dany quickly following. As they passed onto the incline and began to gain height, Tormund said without looking back, “Follow my steps carefully. The First men were sneaky fucking devils, and many of their traps still remain.”

Dany nodded and did so, following his much larger footsteps as they climbed the rocky formation. The wind increased as they ascended, so Dany put her hood up, protecting her face from the gales. As they climbed higher and higher, Dany eventually froze at the sight of a raven perched on a nearby outcropping. Her eyes narrowed. Tormund, who noticed her stop, turned back. “Why the fuck did you stop?” he asked loudly. Dany gestured to the raven. “It’s Bran.”

Tormund rubbed his beard. “The warg? Jon’s brother?”

Dany nodded. “If there’s a raven here, then he’s probably watching us.” She looked to the raven. “We mean no harm. I have come for Jon and nought else. Westeros is yours.”

The raven threw her an unbelieving stare before it took off, squawking. Dany’s eyes narrowed again before she sighed. She hoped that she might be able to live in peace, but that was growing more uncertain by the day. She sighed again before she continued on, prompting Tormund to do the same. Dany continued to ponder about this possible complication before she absentmindedly walked into Tormund.

He turned to her and dropped his voice, crouching slightly. “We’re here,” he said lowly, “let me approach first.”

Dany nodded and Tormund straightened before he rounded a rock and disappeared, before Dany then heard his booming voice greeting Jon. He must have replied to him, as Tormund kept speaking, but she could hear nothing.

Gathering her wits, she stepped around the boulder and emerged into a clearing, where a single tent sat, bordered by a small campfire. Tormund stood on one side, whereas Jon sat on the other.

Dany smiled brightly at the sight of him, but it soon faded when she took in his gaunt face and dried tear tracks. Heavy rings of sleeplessness circled his eyes, which seemed a lot darker than usual. He was clothed in his Night’s Watch ensemble and seemed to be looking at the floor.

Dany strode towards him, her steps short and careful. Jon looked to her. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?” he asked coldly, before he turned to Tormund. “I told you I wanted to talk to nobody!” he growled, causing Dany’s face to fall. Even his voice sounded broken and miserable.

“You know who I am, my love,” she then replied, voice echoing slightly. Jon stood up and looked frantically around, before he raised his hands to his ears. “I can still hear her!” he yelled, and Dany’s eyes widened. He was hallucinating as well?

She strode forwards again, raising her hands to lower her hood. Jon drew Longclaw quickly and pointed it at her, his eyes teeming with pain and guilt, ignoring Tormund’s trumpeting protests.

“Who are you!” he then shouted into the wind.

Dany took a deep breath and took another step forward, lowering her hood as she did so.

Jon’s eyes widened significantly and he staggered back, dropping Longclaw. He began to shake his head. “No, no, no. It’s not. My mind is tricking me again.”

Dany smiled softly. “It’s me, Jon.”

Jon shook his head again and tears began to fall. “You can’t be!” he sobbed fiercely, “YOU JUST CAN’T!”

Dany stepped forwards again.

“Hello, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short delay :(
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I had to finish this when 'The North Remembers' was playing on Youtube. Goddamn it.


	6. Chapter 6

Jon stared at her, frozen in shock, tears streaming down his face in droves. His gaze never reached her eyes, but were concentrated on her chest. Dany looked at him with a mixture of hope and concern.

“No, no, you’re not real,” he mumbled to himself, before he turned around and strode away. Tormund turned to her. “You’d better go alone,” he advised as he stepped back. Dany nodded and shot after Jon, following him away from his tent to the edge of the clearing where he now stood mumbling to himself.

“Jon,” called Dany gently, “it’s me, I swear, it’s me.”

Jon made no move to turn around, but they could see him shaking his head. “No, it’s not. You’re another hallucination, here to punish me. Please,” he then begged, “leave me alone. You’re not her.”

Dany stood frozen, her heart splintering, before a surge of anger swelled up. “Jon Snow!” she yelled, her queenly tone falling into place, “look at me!” She regretted raising her voice to him, but she had to get through to him somehow.

Jon shook his head again. “I can’t,” he wept, making regular swipes at his face, wiping tears away. “You’re dead, Dany, and I did it to you. I see it every damn night. I see the dagger, I see the look in your eyes, I see the blood trickling from your nose and mouth, and it kills me to know that I did it to you.”

“I don’t care,” Dany replied firmly, before she strode towards him. Jon warned her away with a wave of his arm, but she ignored it and spun him around. His grey eyes looked into hers for a moment before he closed his eyes tightly. The pain she saw in them almost made her cry.

Dany cupped his cheek. “Open your eyes, Jon. Look at me, and tell me what you see.”

Jon shook his head, but Dany reached up and ran her other hand over his forehead before it rested on his other cheek. “Look at me, Jon,” she encouraged, stroking his face with her thumbs.

Jon’s face relaxed a bit, and his eyelids slowly crept open, his eyes immediately finding hers. His face softened slightly, but he let out a mournful cry.

Her eyes weren’t how they were in his nightmares, hard and full of betrayal, but rather they were soft and full of concern, relief and worry. Tears were leaking from them, falling down her face, over her reddened cheeks and her plump rosy red lips.

Jon raised a hand to her cheek, gasping when he found real skin. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, and Dany closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, sighing softly.

Jon’s eyes widened and he staggered back. “H-How?” he implored, causing Dany to reopen her eyes and smile at him.

“Drogon took me to Meereen,” she then explained, “where a Red Priestess brought me back to life, just as Melisandre did to you.”

“Then you still, still have?”

Dany nodded and removed her hands from him, before she forced her jerkin’s neckline down to reveal the wound. Jon’s eyes narrowed in self-hatred when he saw it and backed off, but Dany advanced just as quick, grasping his arms.

“How can you be next to me, even talk to me, when you carry the proof of what I did?”

“Because, unlike your marks, which are marks of hate and anger, my mark is one of love.”

Jon’s eyes darted between her hidden wound and her eyes. Tears once again pooled in the corner of his eyes. “I-I..”

He seized forward and hugged her tightly, falling to his knees and taking her with him. She yelped as she was brought down but recovered quickly and wrapped her arms around him in return. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated as he sobbed into her shoulder. Dany shook her head in the embrace after a few repeats. “It wasn’t your fault, Jon. You did the right thi—”

“Don’t!” he exclaimed angrily, “Don’t say it. It wasn’t.”

Dany sighed and separated from him. “It was, Jon. Please, let me explain.” Jon’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded nevertheless.

Dany sat back and brought her knees up to her chin. “Years ago, when my brother died, I vowed to never be like him or my father. I tried to keep that vow throughout my journey, always reminding myself that I would be better than they were.”

“You were—” interrupted Jon, but a mild glare from Dany shut him up, and she continued, “I like to believe I was. I knew mercy, and when to give it. But I also knew rage, and when to use it. The people I surrounded myself with told me I was a good Queen, and eventually I believed it too.”

Then she looked down slightly. “But then I met you, a northern bastard who rose to be the King of the North. You were given nothing, but earned everything, despite the fact that you lived in a world which taught people to see you as nothing but vile and treacherous. When you rejected me when I asked you to bend the knee, for the first time in my life, I felt threatened. I built everything up on the belief that House Targaryen were the true rulers of Westeros, but as I looked at you, I couldn’t help but wonder, did I earn it?”

She looked back up and reached across and stroked his face. “But then you well and truly shattered everything. I fell in love with you, despite my thoughts that I would never do so again, and you bent the knee, pledging yourself and your kingdoms to my cause, saying that I deserved it. Your dedication to your promise, even in front of Cersei Lannister herself, began to whisper in my ear that I actually did deserve it, that I deserved the Iron Throne, that I deserved the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You did—”

Dany silenced him again. “Please, let me finish. I have to get this out.”

Jon’s mouth hung open for a second before he closed it.

Dany threw him a brief smile before she continued. “Cersei then betrayed us, leaving us to fight the dead alone. Her willingness to allow such a great threat to run rampant throughout Westeros only reinforced the fact that I deserved the Iron Throne, to free the people from tyrants like her. So, there I was, feeling like I was on top of the world. I did, or thought I did, have the allegiance of three of the Seven Kingdoms, with supporters in a further two.”

She frowned. “You then told me of your parentage, of how your father hid you away to protect you from the Usurper. I think then it started to set in, no matter how much I loved you. You had the greater claim and were widely proclaimed a hero by everyone after the dead were defeated, and what did I have? Empty promises and a severely depleted army, coupled with the loss of one of my oldest friends.”

“I started to see everyone as a threat, you foremost among them all. I still loved you deeply, but I knew that the Seven Kingdoms would follow you in a heartbeat over me. But then it continued to pile on. I lost most of my ships, Rhaegal and my dear Missandei, then I discovered that you told your sisters, despite my wishes. Sansa told Tyrion, who told Varys, who plotted against me.”

She shuddered as she thought back to her solitude on Dragonstone. “I felt so alone. I felt like everybody I loved left me.”

Jon looked down as well. “I know the feeling.”

She reached down and grasped his hand. “I know you do, and I’m sorry that I was the cause of it.”

“You weren’t,” rebuffed Jon, “it was all my fault. I was still reeling from the revelation of my parentage that morning that we spoke on Dragonstone. Despite how much I yearned to hold you close, to tell you how much I loved you, despite everything that had come out and happened, I somehow decided that the best and right thing to do was to leave it for now, so we could both approach the subject with clear heads.” He looked up to her, eyes watering. “I’m so sorry, Dany. I was a fool.”

Dany shook her head. “We’re both fools, Jon. But,” she added quickly, “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for killing me. I broke the promise I made all those years ago. I promised to be better, but I turned out to be worse. Far worse.”

A tear trickled down Jon’s face and got caught in his beard. Dany cupped his face with both hands. “Listen to me, Jon. I was out of control. I would have levelled the whole world to build my own. That wasn’t what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to break everybody’s chains to slap more on.”

Jon still didn’t look convinced, so Dany squeezed his jaw. “You saved me, Jon, from myself, and I will always be grateful.” Her head cocked to the side and she then asked, “Why did you go for the heart?”

Jon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does, more than you know. Why?”

Jon kept silent for a few moments before he relented. “I didn’t want you to suffer. I wanted you to feel as little pain as possible.”

Dany nodded. “You didn’t kill me in anger, you killed me because you loved me, and you didn’t want me to continue as the person who I had become.”

Jon looked down, closing his eyes. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

“It hurts me too,” Dany confessed, “I go to sleep and see naught but the people I burned, the city I destroyed, and the man I loved forced to do the unspeakable.”

Jon looked up. “I see them too. I stroll through the streets of King’s Landing, looking at all the bodies and knowing, deep down, that it was my fault, all because I did the right fucking thing.”

Dany sighed, “Jon…”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “All my life I’ve done what my father taught me to do, which was what was right, and what has it given me? Nothing but pain!”

“Its who you are, Jon.”

Jon shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m done choosing my path through life simply based on what’s right and wrong. My honour tells me to go back to the Wall, to go to King’s Landing with you, to explain everything, but no, I won’t. Fuck honour. I’m not a Stark anyway.”

He grasped her hands and knelt before her. “I’m sorry, Dany, for everything. You’ll never know how much, but I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you, if you’ll let me.”

Dany raised an eyebrow, but a hint of a smile was quivering at the corners of her mouth. “Is that a vow you’ll swear to, my Lord?”

Jon began to nod but paused himself and shook his head. “I’m a man of the Night’s Watch. I’m breaking my vows by just being here.”

“I think you’ll find that I decide what vows you’ll hold to, my love,” smirked Dany.

Jon smiled, his first true one that Dany had seen. He bowed. “As you wish, my Queen.”

“No,” corrected Dany, “not Queen, not anymore.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “Really?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to make the world a better place, but you can’t do that when you sit in that chair. It is a throne forged from war and death and it brings nothing but war and death. And plus, the horrors I committed to get it do nothing but reinforce the fact that I should never sit on it. You can’t build a stable foundation if it’s built on mountains of bodies and rivers of blood.”

“It’s gone, you know. The Iron Throne. Drogon melted it.”

“Drogon did?”

Jon nodded. “It was just after… I did it. Drogon found your body and got angry, very angry. At first, I thought he was going to burn me, but he took his rage out on what was left of the throne room, including the throne itself. It’s nothing more than a giant smudge of melted metal now.”

Dany was silent for a moment, before she let out a visible sigh of relief and then shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m glad that he did. Kinvara told me it was destroyed, but she didn’t tell me who did it.” She looked wistful for a moment before she shook her head. “I say good riddance to it.”

“Who is Kinvara?” Jon asked curiously.

“The Red priestess who resurrected me.”

“Oh.” Jon looked down for a moment before he looked back up to her. “So, what now?”

Dany thought for a moment, moving her gaze to the vast lands beyond them before she turned back and shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “my whole life has been about getting the throne back. Now that I no longer want it, I have no idea what to do.” She looked out over the endless valleys in front of her. “I might stay here for a while,” she then suggested, “this place is so disconnected from everywhere else, and plus, it’s quite beautiful.”

Jon let out a short laugh. “Aye, it can be when there’s not a horde of dead men coming after you.”

Dany turned to him. “Do you want to stay with me?”

Jon nodded immediately, causing Dany to smile and laugh. “I’ve been given a miracle, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you out of my sight. Fuck my vows, where you go, I go.”

Dany laughed again. “I think I like this new you.”

Jon leaned in. “Good,” he murmured, before he dropped his voice to a whisper, “because it’s staying.”

Dany nodded before she closed the remaining distance and sealed their lips in a loving kiss. Dany practically wrapped herself around Jon as the kiss continued on for several minutes. Jon’s hands worked their way up to her face, and he cupped it tenderly as he continued to show her how much he loved her, as he always should have done.

They still had a long journey to go before they forgive themselves for the past, and the future is all but a mystery to them, but they knew one thing for certain in this very moment;

They’ll face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this thing so many damned times, but I hope I did a good job of it. I don't plan to end it here, so there's definitely more of Jon and Dany to come! I've also been debating whether to put a lemon in or not, but i'm unsure.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Jon looked into her eyes as she asked him to love her, to be with her.

“We do it together,” she soothed. “We break the wheel together.”

He leant in.

“You are my Queen, now, and always.”

They kissed fiercely, and Jon tried to remember every moment of it; the feel of her lips, the sight of her hair, the smell of her scent.

He drew his dagger with his free hand and levelled it with her heart. He plunged it forward, wincing at the sound of it piercing her skin.

She broke off with the sound of a surprised gasp, looking down briefly before she looked back up with a look of betrayal in her eyes.

She dropped to the ground, and Jon went with her, holding her as she took her last few breaths.

The Jon of the memory was sobbing, but another Jon was there, watching the scene unfold, tears flowing down his face silently. Just like any other night, he relived Dany’s death, and he felt the icy sting of regret and guilt pierce his own heart. It hurt, as it always did, far more than the daggers of the scowling form of Ser Alliser and his band of mutineers, as this was a pain of his own making.

“Jon,” a voice then called out. It was all too familiar.

Jon spun around, looking for the source of it, but it seemed to come from everywhere, flowing about like the gentle breeze that swept around the ruined throne room. The Jon holding Dany’s corpse continued crying unaffected by the sound.

“Jon, my love, wake up,” the voice then rang out.

“Dany?” replied Jon, his tone almost making it sound like a beg.

As he continued to look around, he felt a small tug on his arm, as if somebody was trying to shake him. He put a hand on the arm, confusion spreading, before a larger tug gripped the back of his neck, pulling him away from the scene of Drogon’s approach. He could hear him coming, but he couldn’t see him.

As he was pulled towards the doors, the world began to turn white and the elements of his nightmare slowly faded away; first the throne, followed by Jon, followed by Dany’s corpse. The roaring of Drogon faded out as well, and silence fell, leaving nothing but the falling of ash and the gentle breeze of the wind.

As the last vestiges of the memory disappeared, a sound then rang out in his ears. It was a sound he knew far too well.

The cawing of a raven.

* * *

 

Jon shot up, panting heavily. Sweat coated his forehead.

He looked around and was slightly relieved to find himself in his tent atop the Fist of the First Men, the only light coming from the fire which was still lit outside. He reached to the side of his bed to find it, to his great disappointment, empty. His emotions took a plunge into misery, his near constant companion ever since that day.

He sighed heavily and wiped the sweat from his head away. _‘So it was a dream,’_ he thought miserably. He dreamed that Dany had come back, resurrected by a Red priestess. She told him that she didn’t blame him for what he did. They had spent the rest of the day together and had fallen asleep side by side. Jon patted the empty side of the bed and sighed.

_‘It had seemed so real though,’_ he then sniffled to himself.

_‘Well of course it wasn’t!’_ he then reminded himself viciously. _‘You killed her, and this is your punishment!’_

He nodded to himself, agreeing. A few tears fell from his eyes. People like him don’t get happy endings.

“Jon?” a soft voice then interrupted his meanderings. His heart surged. He knew that voice. He looked up to see Dany, still dressed in her freefolk furs, approaching him with a smoking wooden cup. The warm smile she wore did more to reassure him than anything. She was here!

Jon launched up, discarding the furs that he had covering him and immediately drew her into a tight hug. She yelped slightly but quickly reciprocated it just as fiercely.

Tears once again fell from his eyes. “It wasn’t a dream,” he sobbed into her shoulder, “you’re really here.”

He drew back after a moment to stare at her. She was just like he remembered; the creamy white skin, the lips, the silver-blonde hair. Her violet eyes, however, were staring at him with concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Jon nodded happily, letting out a brief smile. “Just a bad dream.”

Dany’s smile faded somewhat. “I had one too,” she confessed, “so I’ve spent the last hour sat at the entrance of the tent.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I would have done, but from the look of you, you haven’t done that much sleeping recently. I only made a move to wake you when I heard you moaning in your sleep.”

So that was the voice he heard. Jon then shook his head. “Fuck sleeping. You need me, wake me.”

Dany smiled again and raised the cup to his eye level. “Tormund left some sort of tea, or at least I think it’s tea. The taste is rather bitter, but it’s drinkable.”

Jon laughed. “That holds true for anything the freefolk have. Bitter but drinkable. Just never try the ale.”

“I’ll try not to.” She handed him the cup before she kissed him chastely. “Good morning,” she then greeted warmly.

Jon kissed her back, his lasting significantly longer than hers. “Good morning,” he breathed, as if the motion of kissing her robbed him of the capacity to store air. Part of him told him that this was all a hallucination, and part of him was still in partial shock that she was even here, but the part that he listened to was practically bubbling with happiness.

Dany smiled when she stepped back. “Drink your tea,” she then ordered, before she turned back and went outside. Jon watched her leave and his gaze remained on the entrance to the tent for nearly a minute before the warmth from the tea drew him out of his reverie. He sipped the liquid within, coughing lightly when the aforementioned bitter taste battered his senses.

He took another drink before he set it down and began to clothe himself. He made for his Night’s Watch clothes, which lay to the side, when something stopped him. His gaze flickered to the entrance.

Should he still wear them? With Dany here, he had no intention of sticking to his vows. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life on the Wall when Dany was with him. He shook his head. He wasn’t in the Night’s Watch, he then decided. _‘Let Westeros come for me,’_ he then avowed. He’ll kill every last one of them if necessary. He turned away and made for one of the bags that Tormund had left him. He opened it to see the set of freefolk furs.

Nodding to himself, he removed the last of his Night’s Watch clothing, which was his blackened breeches and boots, before he donned the sheepskin clothes. He tied Longclaw around his waist before he strode outside to be instantly greeted with the pitch blackness of night, but the first inklings of dawn could be seen on the horizon.

Dany was sat in front of the campfire with her arms folded around herself. Her hood was down and her gaze was set firmly on the horizon, where the sun would eventually rise from. Jon approached and stood next to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she immediately flinched away.

Jon’s face fell before he nodded in acceptance. It was foolish to think that there wasn’t going to be any lingering consequences from what happened. He did kill her, after all. Still, if she still wanted him after everything, (at least, he hoped she did) then he’d make sure he was there for her, to help her, like he always should have done. God knows he had his own issues to work through, his self-hatred for one.

“Are you going to sit down or just stare at me?”

Jon blinked and looked at her again to see her turned around and staring at him, her violet eyes bright and her warm smile back in place. He shrugged softly. “I will if you want me to.”

She nodded before she gestured to his hand. “Sorry about that,” she apologised, “I’m just a bit jumpy at the moment.”

Jon sat next to her and looked into the fire. “I can certainly understand that.” His voice rang with guilt.

A hand on his arm drew his gaze to hers. “What I said yesterday was true, Jon. I don’t blame you.”

“I still blame myself though,” he chuckled mirthlessly before he frowned. “So much would have been different if I would have just talked to you.”

“And so much would have been different if I just talked to you,” she countered sadly. Jon raised an arm and put it over her shoulders, drawing her in. She relaxed into him, leaning her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. Her gaze returned to the horizon, causing Jon’s to do the same.

“Looking for something?”

“I want to see the dawn,” she then explained, “I always loved watching it, even as a little girl. It always seemed so… refreshing, telling me that yesterday is history and today would be better.”

“I thought the same,” conceded Jon. “I’d often sneak out to one of Winterfell’s towers and watch the sun rise. My father caught me a few times, but he never scolded me or berated me, he just sat there with me, watching.”

Dany brought her gaze to his for a moment. “You miss him, don’t you?”

Jon nodded. “I do. Despite my bastard status, he never once turned me away. He treated me just as well as his trueborn children. Lady Stark complained many a time over it, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. However,” he then continued, a minor scowl crossing his face, “I’ll never forgive him for not being here to tell me the truth in person.”

“He saved your life, Jon.”

“I know,” he admitted, “but there was no reason for him not to tell me before I left Winterfell. What did he think I’d do? Yell it to the world?”

Dany was silent for a moment. “What would you have done,” she then asked curiously, “if Lord Stark had told you the truth? Would you have still gone to the Wall?”

Jon’s brows furrowed in thought. He remained like that for several minutes before he finally shook his head. “No,” he answered, causing Dany to jump slightly, “I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t have chained myself to the Wall knowing who I am. I would have most likely gone east, to you, and then would have most likely proceeded to kill my bastard of an uncle for attempting to sell you to that fucking horselord, before killing the Khal as well for daring to think he could lay a hand on you.”

Dany blushed heavily and giggled. “I don’t imagine you would have amounted much of a challenge to Drogo, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Jon shook his head sharply. “I’d have brought the bastard down.”

Dany turned to him, slightly surprised by the ferocity of his words. “You’d have fought one of the most feared Dothraki Khals for an aunt you’ve never met? Why?”

“Because one thing I know for sure is that I’d have fallen in love with you the first time I met you, just like I did on Dragonstone, and there would be no ‘what kingdoms belong to who’ bullshit stopping me.”

Dany blushed again before tears started pooling at her eyes. She leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you,” she almost purred when they separated. She then rested her head again on his shoulder and Jon kissed her forehead sweetly.

“Anytime, my love,” he replied, and he then leaned his head on top of hers. They remained like that, nestled together, watching the sun gradually rise over the mountains, bathing them and the surrounding lands in rays of light, brightening the area in the aura of a new day.

They went back to bed just after, fully clothed, just laying on top of the furs cuddled up together. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and for the first night since King’s Landing, Jon slept peacefully with no hint or sign of a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, as I was busy trying to figure out where I wanted to take this. I started this with the only intention being bringing them back together, but I don't think I or you would ever accept that.
> 
> I have a roundabout idea of what to do with it now, and I hope you like it!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Very well, a lemon you will get. I have next to no idea how to write one, but I swear that i'll do my damnedest to give you it!


	8. Chapter 8

Dany awoke later into the day feeling rested. Granted her sleep this morning was disturbed by visions of the past, but now, as she lay here, she just felt so… content. She raised her head from where it laid on Jon’s chest and attempted to move but found that she was stuck in place by Jon’s muscular arms, which were wrapped around her protectively.

Dany smiled and looked up.

His breathing was slow but relaxed. His face still showed signs of sleeplessness, but they were faded a little and his mouth was curled up in a small smile.

Dany wriggled herself further up and kissed him softly.

“Mmm, Dany,” fell from his lips in a slight groan, and Dany’s smile widened. If she ever needed any more proof that he loved her, that was it. Even in his dreams, he still thought about her.

Dany was perfectly happy to spend the rest of the day in bed, but things needed doing, and besides, she needed to check on Drogon. She hoped he hadn’t eaten any of the Wildlings during the night and day. So, smirking, she began to kiss Jon more heatedly, causing him to groan lightly in his sleep.

A few minutes later, his eyelids crept open, but he made no move to cease the kiss, instead favouring to lean into it, deepening it. Jon pulled her on top of him, holding her in place by the waist.

“You could have just asked me to wake up, you know,” remarked Jon when they finally separated. Dany shrugged, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“So, I take it you didn’t like my method of waking you?” she asked innocently.

Jon shook his head and kissed her again. “Gods no. Please, do it every day.”

Dany laughed and kissed him before she got up, not without a hint of reluctance. Jon sat up, rubbing his eyes as she stood and made her way over to the bags which held the food.

“What’s the plan for today?” he then asked, as she pulled a loaf of bread and several pieces of spiced ham out of her pack, which lay amongst the bags.

Dany walked back over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. She tore the loaf in two before she handed one half and some ham over to Jon. “I want to see Drogon, see how he’s doing. Then I might go for a walk, greeting the Wildlings. I’m curious about them. I never had much time to talk to them before.”

Jon froze, and Dany, who noticed it, quickly shook her head. “It’s fine, Jon. He may grumble at you, but he grumbles at everybody.”

“Everybody didn’t kill his rider.”

“You didn’t,” corrected Dany, “you saved me. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.”

Dany sighed but argued no further. They ate quickly and left the tent soon after. They walked over to the passage which led down to the ground, where the freefolk were camped. Before they passed onto it however, Jon stopped, causing Dany to turn.

“What’s wrong?”

Jon shook his head nervously. “This is the first time I’ve gone back down since I got here.”

“Scared of heights, Jon?” smirked Dany, causing Jon to laugh. “No, just afraid of what meets me at the bottom.”

Dany grabbed his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “You’ll be fine, my love.”

Jon sighed and nodded, and they then left the top of the fist and began the journey down. They both avoided the traps still on the passage, Dany armed with knowledge from her journey yesterday and Jon from his journey with the Night’s Watch years ago. Fifteen minutes later, they left the shadow of the fist and emerged into a small plain where the freefolk were camped. They could make out Drogon’s immense size on the other side of the camp.

They proceeded through the camp, greeting those who called out to them. Most of them were surprised to see Jon, as they expected him to be staying in his self-induced exile. They left the camp soon after, coming across Drogon, who was lounging about on a patch of burned grass. He looked up at them when they approached.

Dany let go of Jon’s hand and ran up to him, giving him a loving scratch on the jaw. Drogon let out a puff of smoke in recognition before his gaze changed to Jon. His eyes smouldered and his upper lip curled up in a snarl.

Dany swatted Drogon lightly. “He’s not an enemy, Drogon,” she scolded in Valyrian, “be nice.”

Dany beckoned to Jon, who stood frozen, face pale. “Come here, Jon.”

After of moment of visible indecision, he acquiesced and walked over to her side. Drogon’s snarl grew louder as he approached, but to Dany’s relief, he did nothing. Dany grabbed Jon’s hand and moved it to Drogon’s jaw, before she stepped back. Jon threw her a shocked glare before he turned back to Drogon.

“Hey boy,” greeted Jon nervously, “it’s good to see you.”

Dany almost laughed at the look of apprehension of Jon’s face, but she refrained from doing so, as he had good reason to be, despite the reasons for why he did what he did.

Jon, gathering his strength, looked Drogon straight in the eye. “I’m sorry, Drogon, for everything. I regret nothing more than what happened that day.”

Drogon continued to eye him, so Jon continued, “However, I promise that I will never hurt your mother again, and I’ll spend the rest of my days keeping her safe and happy, as long as she wants me.”

Dany who stood behind, was chuckling lightly. “You do know he can’t understand you, right?” Her voice was soft but rang with amusement.

Jon nodded. “Yes, but I needed to say it anyway.”

Drogon visibly nodded as well, causing Dany to erupt into pales of laughter. Jon merely watched her with a happy smile. Dany continued chortling for several more minutes before they eventually faded into a series of short hiccups and a few tears of laughter remaining.

She noticed Jon’s smile and cocked her head while she wiped the tears away. “What’s the smile for?”

Jon strode forwards and pulled her into a hug. He brought his mouth to her ear and quietly murmured, “I thought I’d never hear your beautiful laugh again.”

Dany’s face fell for a moment, but she recovered and smiled. “I’m glad it makes you happy.”

Jon shook his head. “You make me happy,” he corrected. “I told you about Ygritte, the freefolk girl I met up here, but what I felt for her is nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

Jon drew back and cupped her cheek. “You are my life, Dany. I want to spend the rest of my life making you smile and laugh. I want to spend the rest of my life holding you when you cry, and to protect you from any sorry bastard who tries to get anywhere near you.”

Dany’s smile widened. “Is that your vow?”

Jon nodded. “It’s not just a vow, it’s a promise, and it’s the only one I intend to keep.”

Dany leaned in and kissed him briefly before she drew back. “Good,” she finished before she kissed him again, this one deeper and more heated. Jon gave as good as he got, and several minutes in, Dany began to wonder if her lips would bruise from how fiercely they were kissing.

A deep growl was then heard, and they sprung apart to see Drogon staring at them, just as he did when they were by the waterfall, with hints of jealously and loathing. Dany laughed again before she burrowed herself into Jon’s embrace. Jon tucked his head over hers. Jon’s eyes, however, were locked onto Drogon’s.

“If I didn’t think he was going to eat me the last time, this time he definitely will,” he then muttered worriedly. Dany merely laughed again. “He won’t,” she promised, but Jon still looked unconvinced. Drogon, seemingly confirming Jon’s theory, growled again and stomped one of his feet, sending a mild tremor through the immediate area.

Dany extricated herself from Jon and turned to face Drogon. “Don’t hurt him,” she ordered in Valyrian, “He’s mine.”

Drogon let out another growl, this one softer, before he turned away and leaped into the sky, showering both Jon and Dany in snow. He gained height and ambled away and to the south.

Jon sighed heavily in relief, causing Dany to break out into laughter again and continued to do so all the way back to the camp. She was still chortling when they arrived at Tormund’s tent. They entered to find the man drinking from a horn.

He shot up when he saw them. “Snow!” he boomed, before he grabbed Jon in a rib-crushing hug. Jon could do nothing but wheeze and pat his friend gingerly on the back as he continued to be nearly choked to death. When Tormund stepped back, Jon began to massage his now aching chest, while Tormund hugged Dany as well, a lot softer than Jon, he then noticed.

“So what, you try to kill me, but she escapes unharmed?” he croaked, causing Dany to laugh again.

Tormund was unapologetic and merely shrugged, before offering them both a horn of ale, claiming that it was one of the last batches from before Hardhome. Jon accepted, mentally bracing himself for the all too familiar burn, whereas Dany declined, quoting her supposedly unsteady stomach, much to Jon’s relief.

Tormund nodded and strode off, soon returning with two horns of ale and a cup of what looked like the tea that Dany gave Jon before. He gave them both their drinks before he gestured them to their seats, which were actually naught but logs.

Tormund raised his horn to them both as he sat down, taking a large swig. Jon and Dany both drank their drinks, both gasping at the harshness of the liquid. Tormund, who was watching them, merely laughed. “You’ll get used to that, the longer you’re here.”

“No I won’t,” replied Jon.

“Are we, I mean, am I allowed to stay?” Dany then asked over the rim of her cup, allowing the warmth of the tea to seep into her.

“Of course you fucking are!” Tormund yelled in reply, raising his arms, causing his ale to spill. “You’re the only one who keeps this one,” (he gestured to Jon), “fucking sane!”

They both bristled slightly at the mention of insanity but made no comment. Dany then smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you, Tormund. It’s nice to know I still have some friends.”

Jon reached over and squeezed her hand. Dany smiled gently at him, before she turned back to Tormund. “I can, of course, make no promises for Drogon, but I’ll try to tell him to leave your people and flocks alone.”

Tormund froze for a second. “I forgot about the fucking dragon.” He then nodded. “Very well. I assume you’re both still going to be, you know, up there?” He made a vague gesture upwards.

Jon and Dany looked to each other for a moment before they both nodded. “It may be for the best,” replied Dany, “as the top of the Fist should provide Drogon a suitable place to sleep, so your people don’t get their wits scared out of them.”

Jon nodded. “And, the distance should help keep you safe if they come.”

Dany and Tormund looked to him. “They?”

Jon took a rather large drink of his ale. “Yesterday, I left my tent to be greeted by at least thirty ravens.”

Dany nodded with a hint of recognition crossing her face. “Bran.”

Tormund’s eyes narrowed. “This is the second time I’ve heard of him.”

Jon looked up sharply. “When?”

To Jon’s surprise, it wasn’t Tormund who replied, but Dany. “I saw a raven yesterday as we climbed the fist. Just by looking at it, I knew it was him.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. So, Bran wasn’t just checking up on him, he’s now spying on Dany as well? What the fuck is going on? Shaking his head, he got back to his tale. “Anyway, one of them held a letter, penned by Tyrion. He told me that I was charged with desertion, but Bran was apparently offering me one last chance to go back to the Wall and stay there. I declined, and even killed one of his ravens when they kept badgering me.”

“Badgering?” laughed Tormund, “how the fuck does a raven badger you?”

“I wasn’t in the best of moods, and their constant staring was grating on my nerves.”

Dany then leaned forwards. “Did Tyrion say anything else?”

“He told me that the Daenerys we both knew and loved wouldn’t want me to do this, and that he had a plan to get me out of there.”

“Tyrion had many plans,” spat Dany, “and I certainly don’t want you chained to that place.” Her look then softened. “Would you go home, if Tyrion or Bran offered it?”

Jon shook his head. “Westeros holds nothing for me anymore. Half the Lords hate me for what I did. And my family? Sansa betrayed me, after she swore to keep my secret. Arya left for god knows where, so I doubt I’ll ever see her again. And Bran… I don’t know what the fuck is going on with him, but I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that he’s up to something that doesn’t bode well for either of us. My home, Dany, is wherever you are. Everywhere else, I was either a bastard, a crow, a commander or a king. With you, I’m just Jon, and that’s all I wanted to be.”

Dany smiled and put her arm around his waist, hugging him. Jon leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, before he stroked her hair softly.

“So,” Tormund then asked, “what’s the plan, King and Queen Crow?”

Dany smiled at the nickname, before she shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d like to stay here for a while and see the wonders your land offers. If my presence becomes a threat to you, however, I’ll leave and fly back east.”

“And I’ll be going with you, if needs be,” interrupted Jon immediately. “Drogon may hate it, but he’ll have to kill me to stop me from following you to the ends of the earth and back.”

Dany kissed him in thanks and then took another drink of her tea, accompanied by another cough as the bitterness assaulted her throat.

Tormund however, was frowning slightly in thought. “If they do come, the best place for us to be is either here or Hardhome. Both are easily defendable, and scouts have reported that most of Hardhome remains intact, as the Walkers barely touched it after we left.”

“I don’t expect you to—” Dany interrupted, but Tormund shook his head. “You two are largely responsible for the survival of the freefolk. It’d be a poor fucking showing if we didn’t help you.”

“Thank you, Tormund,” offered Jon, “for everything.”

Tormund waved it away. “We owe you far fucking more.”

They spent the better part of an hour with Tormund, who insisted on providing them with more supplies before they left. When Jon and Dany, now laden with several more bags turned to leave, Tormund called them back and gestured to Longclaw. “You may need that.”

“For what?”

Tormund eyed him for a moment, before Jon’s eyes widened and he immediately scowled and nodded. Dany, however, was still unawares. “What’s wrong?”

“Freefolk law states that any man who wishes to take a wife must steal her away. I’ll tell them to stay the fuck away from you, but their stubborn fuckers, so some might still try their luck.”

Dany’s eyes widened, and Jon’s face briefly turned red, not with embarrassment, but with anger. After a few moments, Dany nodded. “I’d like to see them get past Drogon, but I appreciate the warning all the same.”

They bid Tormund farewell and left. As they strode through the camp, Dany was mildly amused by the now permanent ugly look on Jon’s face. Every man that they passed received a death glare from him, and any that dared make eye contact were faced with the sight of Longclaw being drawn slightly from its sheath.

When they had cleared the majority of the camp, Jon’s face softened, but not by much. He was now eyeing the rocks with suspicion, causing Dany to stop him in his tracks. “Jon, stop it. Nobody’s going to get me.”

“I don’t care,” growled Jon, “I’m not losing you again.”

Dany kissed him sweetly, before she gestured to the fist. “Come on,” she prodded, “let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise, once again, for any delay, as I decided to write ahead a little, to test how the story was going to go. I'm relatively happy with it, but I will probably make changes, so there might be a delay for the next one though. However, it will probably be out by the end of the week.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

The next three months that passed were mostly uneventful.

Jon and Dany remained in their tent atop the Fist, soon joined by Drogon, but they made the journey down to the camp nearly every day. Dany sought to learn everything she could about the Wildlings, or freefolk as she now called them, using their chosen name instead of the one lumped upon them by everyone else. Nightmares still plagued them every day, and they could do nothing but hold and support each other as they both fought their demons.

Their relationship was moving slowly. Besides kissing, they didn’t do much else, as Dany wasn’t ready for it. The love she felt for Jon wasn’t the problem, rather the fact that she didn’t trust Jon enough to take another step. She knew why he did what he did, and she forgave him for it, but the memory resurging ever night kept reminding her of what happened. She was working through them, but it was slow going, and Jon promised to be there whenever she needed him.

Jon’s suspicion of everyone who dared approach abated after a month, when Dany, having had enough of him muttering under his breath every time a freefolk man approached him, berated him about what he was doing one afternoon.

* * *

 

They were both sat in front of the campfire. Dany was rubbing her hands for warmth whilst Jon was adding wood to it. Dany kept giving Jon looks before she sighed heavily.

“You need to stop, Jon.”

Jon looked at her confusedly. “Stop what?”

“Stop giving every man a death glare every time one approaches me.”

Jon put a log down and crossed his arms. “I won’t,” he rebuffed firmly, “I’m not losing you again.”

“I think they’ve gotten the message Jon,” reasoned Dany, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. “And besides, you know that I love you!”

Jon’s face softened for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “I’ve seen the way they look at you.”

“I don’t care how they look at me!” argued Dany, “Tormund told them to back off, and your attitude has probably scared the rest of them!”

“But what if—”

“But nothing!” interrupted Dany fiercely. “I choose who I love, and I choose you. I don’t need you, or Tormund or anybody to choose for me!”

Jon’s eyes widened slightly, before a tear slipped from his left eye and he looked down. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and his tone was broken. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll go, I’m sorry.”

He stood and made to leave, but he was stopped by Dany grasping his arm. She tried to turn him around, but he held firm. “Why are you here?” he asked quietly, “I don’t deserve you.”

Dany sighed before she stood and stepped around him.

“You are the only one who deserves me,” she replied gently, but he shook his head. “I don’t,” he mumbled, “all I do is bring misery and death.”

“No you don’t,” Dany immediately asserted, before she grabbed him into a hug. “Until I met you, I was only ever focused on one thing; the Iron Throne. When I’m with you, I’m not the Mother of Dragons, I’m not the Dragon Queen, I’m just Dany. It took everything that has happened to make me see it, but I like just being Dany. I like, no I love being here with you, only you.”

“And Drogon,” added Jon, with the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“And Drogon,” repeated Dany with a laugh, which caused the smile lingering on Jon’s face to spread. “I’m yours, Jon,” she then continued, “but I don’t need you to protect me all the time. Can you do that?”

Jon was silent for a few minutes before he nodded. “I’ll try,” he acquiesced, “but I’ll make no promises that I won’t kill anyone who threatens you.”

“I know.”

Jon leaned in for a kiss, which Dany reciprocated, before she hugged him again. “I’m sorry,” he apologised into her shoulder, “it’s just I—”

“I know,” repeated Dany, before she drew back and kissed him again. When she drew back, she smiled warmly at him, which he returned.

“I love you, Dany.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

After that, life gained a sense of normalcy. They would wake in the morning, exchange a kiss, and then go about their day. Jon took up a job of instructing several freefolk children in swordfighting and did so every day, teaching them everything he knew and remembered from Ser Rodrik’s drilling that he had had when he was a boy. Dany came to watch when she wasn’t busy. She always made sure the tent they lived in was in order, which Jon often helped with when he could, telling her that he wasn’t going to let her do everything alone.

Otherwise, the women who had given her the furs which she now wore took her under her wing and taught her how to sew and make clothes. It had been a struggle at first, and it had really tested her temper, but she eventually got the hang of it, even found it very relaxing. Another benefit was that they helped her when her moonblood started coming again. She had sobbed for an hour when it had happened. Lyanna had told her that she could bear children, but her moonblood only made it real. She hadn’t told Jon yet, as the topic never came up, as Jon had always said that he never placed his love for her solely on the fact that she couldn’t bear a child. Brightened considerably by the knowledge, she often found herself happily spending the days in the tent with the others sewing away.

She had even made a friend amongst the group; a woman around her age with flowing brown hair named Wyra. She was remarkably gentle considering the freefolk’s fierce reputation. She was a godsend for Dany, as Wyra would listen to Dany’s worries and concerns which she couldn’t talk to Jon about. She got on very well with her, but she often found herself falling into moments of sullen silence, missing Missandei, the closest thing she’s ever known to a sister. She often wondered how Grey Worm and the other Unsullied were doing, as they should have reached Narth by now. Sometime in the future, she might visit as well, as she had often spoken with Missandei about visiting her home.

She was thinking such thoughts now when a voice interrupted her meanderings.

“Thinking about her again?”

Dany looked up from her current piece of work, which was a fur glove, and saw Jon standing by the entrance, looking resplendent in his freefolk furs. He always made it a point of pride to come and escort her back home after each day. She put her work down, bid her fellow women farewell and strode over to him, greeting him with a brief kiss. He opened his arms and she slid into them, allowing him to encapsulate her in a loving hug.

“You alright?” he asked warmly.

She nodded into the embrace. “I’m fine.” Her voice was slightly muffled by Jon’s furs, but it was still understandable. She then stepped back.

Jon gave her one look and shook his head. “You’re not fine,” he corrected, before he reached up and stroked the side of her face. “Your eyes give you away every time.”

Dany cocked her head. “You like looking at my eyes?”

“Along with every other part of you,” he shrugged, his tone making it known that he didn’t give a fuck who heard.

The women behind them started laughing and Dany blushed and swatted his arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

Dany had a rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, but as she looked into his godsdamned gorgeous grey eyes, she soon lost it and smiled. “Yes I do, just like every other part of you.”

The laughter from the group increased, so Dany rolled her eyes and practically shoved Jon out of the tent and into the cold.

“Sorry,” apologised Jon, before he kissed her again. “Are you alright?”

Dany nodded. “I’m fine, it just gets to me sometimes.”

“Missandei?”

Dany dipped her head. “Yes.”

Jon hugged her. “I’m sorry, Dany. I should have come with you when we went South. I should have been on Rhaegal, then Euron might have not been able to—”

Dany raised a finger to his lips, stopping him from continuing. “It’s not your fault.”

“But if—”

“No,” interjected Dany, “it’s in the past, and that’s where it must stay. I miss her, and will always miss her, but I can’t allow myself to drown in my feelings.”

Jon’s bearing dropped for a moment, but he quickly relaxed and offered his arm. “To home?”

Dany nodded and linked her arm with his. Jon squeezed her arm briefly before they set off out of the camp, heading for the passage which led to the top of the fist.

“So,” Dany asked as they walked, “how was your day?”

Jon sighed wearily. “It was fine. Thom had a nasty fall, but he only sprained his ankle. He’ll be out for a few weeks.”

Dany winced. “What happened?”

“He was sparring with Felgris and tripped over a rock. No matter how many times I tell them to be aware of their surroundings, they never listen.”

“They’re freefolk, Jon. They weren’t brought up in a castle.”

Jon nodded. “I know, it’s just annoying sometimes.”

Dany laughed but said nothing further. They passed onto the passage and began to climb. They were well used to the journey by now and knew where the traps were off by heart. Just after they passed the halfway marker, however, they stopped suddenly when something greeted them.

A raven sat on a nearby outcropping, looking at them with a piercing stare. It had a letter tied to its leg. Jon’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s Bran, isn’t it?” Dany asked him in a whisper. Jon nodded and whispered back. “It’s him.”

He then stood forward, careful to keep Dany behind him.

“What do you want, brother?” Jon then asked, his voice significantly louder. The raven flew forward and allowed Jon to remove the letter from its leg. As soon as it had been removed, the raven flew off, causing Jon to let out a smirk. _‘That’s right brother, keep your ravens away,’_ he thought darkly.

Dany eyed the letter. “What does it say?” she asked nervously.

Jon eyed it as well before he shrugged and put it away. “It can wait. Let’s get home first.”

The rest of the journey passed in a tenuous silence. Dany was worried. Surely word of her return had spread to all of Westeros by now. Were they going to come for her, or let her go in peace? She hoped it was the latter, but she was almost sure it was the former. Despite the fact that she didn’t want anything to do with ruling now, she knew some people were never going to let her live in peace after what she had done, and those people were the ones in control of the Kingdoms of Westeros.

Jon, meanwhile, was stewing in anger. They were never doing to leave them alone. He wouldn’t be half surprised if there was an army marching for them even now. He then squared his shoulders. He didn’t care who came, whether it be Sansa, Tyrion or Bran himself, he wasn’t going to let himself be dragged back to the Wall or allow Dany to be taken away from him. He’ll die first.

When they reached the top, they emerged to not only see Drogon, but also Ghost staring at them. The direwolf was laid down a few feet from Drogon’s gigantic head.

“Hey boy!” called Jon, “where’ve you been?” He hadn’t seen Ghost since before Dany came back. Ghost stood, padded up to them and immediately began begging for pets from both of them, which they obliged happily. Dany eventually broke off and went to greet Drogon, whilst Jon continued to stroke Ghost.

When they finished greeting them, Jon set to work lighting the campfire whilst Dany went inside to check whether everything was as she left it. A few minutes later, she re-emerged to see a healthy fire going and Jon sat in front of it, rubbing his now bare hands together, with his gloves set to one side. Dany sat next to him, removing her gloves and doing the same. Ghost walked over and laid his head in her lap, causing her to smile fondly. Ghost, despite his hulking frame, always had a soft side, especially whenever he saw her. She couldn’t help but remember how scared she had been when Jon first introduced him to her when they arrived in Winterfell.

* * *

They had just finished greeting Sansa, and they were both milling around in the courtyard.

“Your sister doesn’t like me.”

Jon smiled. “She doesn’t know you. Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.”

Almost as if it was on cue, Dany shivered. “It’s too cold.”

“Aye, it would be,” Jon replied, “it is Winter after all.”

Another shiver wracked Dany’s body, which this time had naught to do with the temperature. If what Jon’s brother had told her was true, the Night King now rode Viserion, who was trapped under his magic.

“Are you alright Dany?” She looked up to see Jon looking at her in concern.

She gave him a small smile. “I’m alright, just thinking.”

“About Viserion?”

She nodded, and Jon’s face fell. He still felt guilty over what had happened, despite how many times Dany had told him that it wasn’t his fault. Her child’s death was a potent wake up call.

“I’m sorry—” he began, but was then distracted by a sight behind her, which caused him to smile widely. Dany turned and her breath caught in her lungs.

A wolf, no, a direwolf, was running towards them. It was proud and tall with startlingly bright white fur, and its bright red eyes seemed to bore into Dany’s soul. She retreated, afraid, allowing Jon to approach. She then shook herself. _‘Come on Daenerys,’_ she berated herself, _‘you ride a dragon, yet you’re scared of a larger than most wolf?’_

A loud laugh brought her out of it to see the wolf almost flatten Jon. He struggled against it, laughing, before he dropped to one knee and stroked its head fondly. “It’s good to see you, boy,” he greeted, causing the wolf to give him another nudge in response.

After several more pets, Jon turned and beckoned Dany forward. “It’s alright,” he reassured, “he won’t hurt you.”

She advanced cautiously, keeping a worried eye on the wolf, which now sat with its tail wagging. Jon offered his hand, which she took, and he guided it to the wolf’s head. A brief exclamation of shock left her when she made contact with the wolf. _‘It’s so…. fluffy,’_ she thought amazingly. The wolf leaned its head forward into her hand and began whining softly. Dany looked at Jon in alarm.

Jon merely laughed. “He wants you to pet him more.”

Dany let out a smile and did so, her smile widening when the wolf let out happy yowls. “Aww, you’re adorable,” cooed Dany as she stroked him. “What is his name?” she then asked.

“His name is Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Aye, Ghost. I named him that because he’s nearly always as silent as one.”

“He’s beautiful,” admired Dany, as Ghost then laid down and rolled onto his side, tongue lolling.

Jon shook his head in mock disbelief. “So much for the big fierce Direwolf, eh? Traitor.”

* * *

Dany smiled as she thought of the memory, but it soon faded when she thought of what came after. It was cruel, she then decided, to give her so much then to rip it from her fingers.

After a few moments, when the warmth had spread to her arms, she turned to Jon. “Let’s see what Bran has for us now.”

Jon continued looking into the fire for a moment before he sighed and nodded. He reached within his jerkin and pulled the letter out. He unfurled it before he held in front of both of them.

They read;

_Aegon of the House Targaryen,_

_His grace Brandon Stark offered you a chance to re-join the Night’s Watch, which you have refused. Therefore, you have been charged with the murder of Daenerys Targaryen, the crime of Queenslaying, a form of highest treason, and the crime of desertion from the Night’s Watch._

_You are henceforth branded a criminal and a fugitive and will be hunted down and killed on sight if you journey south to the Wall._

_However, his grace offers you another chance of redemption. His grace knows that Daenerys Targaryen has returned and is currently with you. His grace requests that you bring Daenerys to Castle Black, where she will be taken to the Capital to be tried for the murders of all those who died in the Battle of King’s Landing. You will be pardoned for all of your crimes and be allowed to claim one of the castles on the Wall as your own._

_Regards,_

_Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King_

Jon put the letter down and sighed. “Charge me with murder knowing full well she’s alive. Thanks Bran.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Dany then consoled, but Jon shook his head. “I stand by what I said. Westeros holds nothing for me anymore, this simply reinforces the fact. I’m not going back, and I’m certainly not going to hand you over.”

“What will we do?”

Jon’s brow creased for a moment, before he shook his head. “Nothing. We’re not in Westeros. If they want us, they’ll have to come get us.”

“And what if they do?”

“We’ll leave,” Jon replied simply. “We’ll go somewhere they can’t get to us.”

Dany leaned into him. “I’ve always wanted to show you Essos.”

Jon turned his head and nuzzled her hair before he planted a kiss on her head. “I’d love to go there someday, as long as I’m with you.”

Dany’s gaze fell to the letter which still hung in Jon’s hand. She reached for it. “May I?”

Jon handed it to her without a word and looked into the fire. She then read over it again. It was definitely her Hand’s handwriting. _‘Well,’_ she thought sadly, _‘my former Hand’s writing.’_ Over the past few months, she had been going over everything which lead to the destruction of Kings Landing, and she couldn’t fault Tyrion for doing what he did. She may not be able to forgive him, as he did goad and prod Jon into killing her, but she understood why he did it.

As she looked at the letter, she noticed more words hidden behind the ones printed. She turned the paper over and was surprised to see another message written on the back. The writing was faded greatly, but she could just make the letters out.

“Jon, there’s something else.”

Jon looked over. “What do you mean?”

Dany held the letter in the light from the fire. “There’s another message. It’s faded, but it’s there.”

With Jon now looking over her shoulder, they both squinted their eyes and read;

_Jon, Daenerys,_

_I hope you find this message in time._

_Bran has told us that Daenerys was resurrected, and that you are both now together. I know the other message reads that you are both criminals, but I want you to know that not everyone sees you as such._

_I like to consider myself a learned man, but I’ve made too many mistakes, the biggest concerning the two of you. I feared, when I first learned of your relationship, that your love would lead to nothing but disaster. I was right, technically, but I have since seen that I was wrong._

_If I had pushed the two of you together, instead of allowing the two of you to fall apart, then perhaps all of this could have been avoided, and we could perhaps have seen the two of you ruling together._

_I’m sure you’re confused with the secrecy of my letter, but I had to take all precautions possible. I had to write this in diluted ink when I knew Bran was asleep, but I still can't be sure that he won't find out. Bran is up to something. He’s becoming obsessed with the two of you, and it worries me greatly. And, due to his gifts, it’s almost impossible to say or suggest something otherwise to the others, but I knew that I had to do something._

_He’s coming for you. He’s coming for you both._

_He’s been in contact with Sansa, who has already martialled her men, bolstered by men from the Riverlands and the Vale, and has sent them North. If my predictions are correct, they should be near to or already past the Wall._

_I know you both have no inkling whatsoever to do so, but please, I beg of you, trust me._

_Tyrion_

Jon looked at Dany, and Dany looked at Jon. Jon's gaze was resigned, whereas Dany's held nothing but fear.

“Shit,” sighed Jon.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	10. Chapter 10

Jon stood sharply and turned to Ghost, who lifted his head from Dany’s lap and stood as well.

Jon looked into Ghost’s eyes and gestured to the passage. “Bring Tormund, Ghost.”

Ghost looked at Jon for a moment before he ran off, quickly disappearing from sight. Jon turned and walked away, his hand around Longclaw’s hilt, before he turned back after a few seconds, facing a now ashen faced Dany.

“If they’re already past the Wall, the freefolk scouts in the area will see them coming. They know the land, the Westerosi don’t.”

Dany wrapped her arms around herself. “I want to be left alone.”

Jon froze before he nodded. “O-Of course,” he stumbled out, before he backed off. “I-I’ll go and talk to Tormund.” He made to walk away from the campfire, but before he got more than a few paces, Dany’s arm gripped his and yanked him around. She instantly planted a kiss on Jon’s surprised face before she stepped back.

“I didn’t mean you leave me,” she corrected, “I meant that I want them all to leave me, no us, alone.”

“Oh,” Jon looked around, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

Dany shook her head. “Just hold me, please.”

Jon immediately wrapped her up in a hug. Dany burrowed herself into him. “You’re shaking,” Jon then murmured, “Are you cold? We can go back to the fire.”

Dany said nothing for a moment, but she eventually nodded. Jon then lead her back without relinquishing his grip. He sat them down on their seats and she then clambered into his lap. Jon rearranged his arms, making sure she was supported.

“Are you worried?” Jon then asked after nearly twenty minutes of silence. She raised her head and looked at him. He could see it in her eyes. Tears were threatening to fall. Jon raised his hand and stroked the side of her face. “No, no, don’t cry, Dany.”

“They’re going to kill me,” she then sniffled. Jon shook his head firmly. “No, they won’t. I’ll kill every single one of them before they get anywhere near you, even if I have to mount Drogon myself and burn them all.”

Dany’s face sharpened. “Don’t say that,” she warned, “don’t be like me.”

Jon’s face dropped in realisation. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, “it just came out.”

“Don’t be like me,” she repeated. “I killed them, Jon. I killed them all. Every time I close my eyes I hear the screams.”

Jon sighed sadly and looked down. “So do I.”

“See?” she exclaimed, “I am a monster!”

“No you’re not!” Jon rebuffed angrily, “You were broken! I dare every single person at Kings Landing that day to say that they wouldn’t feel the same if they went through everything that had happened to you!”

“But—”

“But nothing,” replied Jon firmly, “You aren’t the only one who’s seen such things.” He then looked around and sighed again. “I don’t know whether I’ve ever told you about Hardhome.”

“Hardhome? Tormund mentioned it. It’s a freefolk settlement, isn’t it? It fell to the Walkers.”

“That’s not the whole story,” replied Jon, sighing again, his head dropping. “Tormund and I first met when he was under Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall. Mance died soon after Stannis decimated his army, leaving them leaderless. They gathered at Hardhome, a village to the east. Nearly a hundred thousand freefolk were there, not just men and women, but children and old people, as well as giants.”

Dany shuddered as she remembered the huge hulking forms of the monsters who besieged Winterfell, but she remained silent.

“I had just been made Lord Commander,” Jon continued, “and I knew what was coming. I knew the freefolk were doomed if they stayed on the other side of the Wall. So, I approached Tormund and asked for his help, which he gave begrudgingly as we were still technically enemies back then. We then journeyed with Stannis’s ships to Hardhome, where we attempted to sway the leaders to join us. Several did, including the giants, but many would never trust the word of a crow, despite Tormund’s assurances. We were then proceeding to evacuate the ones who agreed to come, when they attacked.”

“The Walkers?”

Jon nodded. “They swarmed Hardhome and slaughtered everyone. I tried to save as many as I could, but there were just too many of them. Tormund and Edd practically dragged me onto the boat.” His eyes closed tightly, but a tear escaped.

“There were still thousands on the beaches, yelling for us to come back. The dead swarmed them and killed them all. I saw children ripped from their mother’s arms and torn apart. I saw wives being torn from their husbands and husbands being torn from their wives. One of the leaders who decided to accompany us, Karsi, was stabbed to death by a group of wight-children.”

Dany raised her hand to her mouth in shock. Jon, however, wasn’t done. “I stood there, Dany, fucking stood there, as hundreds, no, thousands of people were murdered, and what could I do? Nothing!” He shouted the last part out, causing Dany to jump slightly. Tears started to fall, but he wiped them off and scowled.

“It was then that I saw him.”

Dany didn’t even have to think about who he was talking about.

“He walked along the jetty that we had abandoned not even five minutes before. He stared at me, then proceeded to look out over the sea of bodies. He then raised his hands, and every single person stood up, eyes as cold as his. That day, the Walkers gained a nearly a hundred thousand more soldiers, and I did nothing but fucking watch.”

“Jon, I didn’t—”

“I haven’t really told anybody about that day. Even now, I can still hear the screams of the people I left behind. I died soon after, and then I had other priorities to deal with when I came back, but the point remains; I went north to save the freefolk, and I failed.”

“You didn’t,” a gruff voice then added, causing them both to look up and see Tormund approaching, Ghost following closely behind. He gave them both a curt nod before he sat down on the other side of the fire. Ghost left them and walked over towards where Drogon was sprawled. Tormund rubbed his hands, but he looked at Jon. “You saved us that day, Snow. If you hadn’t have come, everyone would have died that day.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Jon forcefully, “I wanted to save them, to save you all. I came for a hundred thousand and left with barely eight.”

“And what’s left of those eight are down there, right now, alive, because of you!” Dany then shouted, gesturing over the edge of the crest. Tormund nodded. “She’s right, Snow, and you know it.”

Jon said nothing further, so Tormund then asked, “Why the fuck have I been dragged up here? If it’s to do nothing but watch you two fuck, I’d rather pitch myself off of the top.”

A hint of a smile crossed Jon’s face, but it quickly disappeared, and he switched his gaze to the fire. Dany, meanwhile, raised the letter. “We’ve received another letter from Bran, telling us that Jon is now officially a criminal, but he can go free if he hands me in.”

Tormund snorted. “Bloody southerners.”

Dany frowned. “However, an old friend sent us a hidden letter, telling us that Westeros is already sending an army to capture us.”

Tormund’s eyes narrowed. “Which friend?”

“Tyrion.”

“Ah, the dwarf who loved to drink and talk. Can you trust him?”

Dany looked uncertain for a moment but then nodded. Tormund rubbed his beard. “How long until they get here?”

“From what Tyrion tells us, they could have passed the Wall already.”

Tormund swore. “Fuck.”

“If you want us gone,” Dany offered, “we can always—”

“No,” objected Tormund. “Like I said, you saved us, and we owe you for it. We’ll help you drive them off.”

“With what?” Jon then piped up. “You barely number six thousand! How will that help you drive off a trained army of Westerosi men?”

“We are the freefolk,” smirked Tormund savagely. “They think they can invade the true North, they’ll soon regret it!”

“I don’t want to see your people suffer anymore!” argued Jon, “Don’t you think they’ve been through enough?!?”

Dany nodded in agreement before she added, “If we leave, the southern forces should leave you alone. We’re tired of fighting Tormund. We’ve done it all our lives, and we’re tired of it.” Jon looked to her in surprise, but then again, she knew him better than anyone, so he just nodded in agreement.

Tormund still looked unconvinced, so Dany continued. “Look, we don’t want to leave. I love it here, but I won’t let the price of my stay here be your lives. Just give us until they actually arrive. Don’t let them approach, but there has to be a commander. Maybe we can reason with them.”

Jon nodded. “If it’s a northern Lord, they might leave us alone if I can talk to them. Anyone else, then they’ll probably want to kill me or Dany.”

Dany turned to him. “Can you think of anyone else that still might help us?”

Jon thought for a moment. “Davos and Sam possibly, but Sam might hold bitterness against you for his brother’s death. Yara Greyjoy spoke out for you, but she also advocated for my death, so I don’t know. Then there’s Grey Worm, but he and the Unsullied would kill me on the spot. I don’t trust the Riverlords and the Knights of the Vale, as they would much prefer to follow Sansa than me. The northmen, however… it depends on the House.”

“So, besides Davos and Tyrion and possibly Sam and Yara, we’re alone.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry, Dany.”

Dany shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. If we must leave, we go to Essos. The people there should help us.”

“Should?”

“They’ll either help us or kill us.”

Jon sighed. “Fantastic.”

“If we go east,” Dany then suggested, “we should go to Meereen first. There’s a Red Priestess there who could help us make sense of all this mess.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” interceded Tormund, “because you’re not going anywhere.” He then stood. “I’ll go and tell the others and instruct the scouts to keep an eye out for the fuckers.” He left quickly, leaving Jon and Dany alone with their muddled thoughts.

“Why is Bran doing this?” Dany then wondered.

Jon shook his head. “I don’t know. If he’s as powerful as he says, he must know that we’re no threat to him. We don’t want to rule. Unless…”

Dany leaned her head on his. “Unless what?”

“He really wanted me to go back to the Wall. Why?”

Dany shrugged. “You know more about it than me.”

“Everything I thought was true about it was wrong,” scoffed Jon, “the Night’s Watch was nothing but a group of thieves and,” Jon’s eyes widened, “murderers.”

Jon’s face reddened and his grip around Dany tightened. “He was going to have me killed.” His voice was quiet, but it was now teeming with rage.

Dany gasped. “What?”

“All it would take is one person sent under the auspices of being a new recruit, for them to sneak in my quarters and kill me. I’m a threat to them, just like you are. But I didn’t stay at the Wall, did I? I went north with the freefolk, and as Tormund said, they think that they owe me their lives and they consider me one of their own. The freefolk are loyal to none but themselves. They would never do it.”

Dany’s mind clicked in realisation. “Even now, he tells you that your place is at the Wall and nowhere else. Oh my gods, he was going to…”

“Kill me,” Jon seethed.

Dany’s eyes smouldered, and she stood up and strode away. She was trembling with anger. They were going to kill, no, murder, Jon. Her Jon! _‘He saved all your lives, and you’re just going to kill him?!?’_ she thundered. _‘Those bastards! I’ll kill them myself!’_ She then reminded herself of what had happened the last time her anger ruled her, and she calmed down, but not by much, but she at least would now refrain from feeding them to Drogon. Possibly.

Jon, however, had no such compunctions of calming. The fact that Bran, someone who he once considered to be his brother, had seemingly been plotting to kill him, colluding with his once-thought sister infuriated him beyond belief. He gave everything he had to save them; his pride, his life and his heart, and they still wanted more? _‘That’s it,’_ he growled to himself, _‘next time I see Sansa or Bran, they die.’_

His eyes widened again. If he had stayed at the Wall, he would have been killed and Dany would have been resurrected and would have once again been alone. She would have come north to find him and would have found nothing but his corpse, accompanied with whatever bullshit excuse his traitorous ex-siblings cooked up. That realisation angered him far more than anything else.

He then chuckled darkly. “Is this you, Catelyn? You’re still trying to get rid of me, even after you’re dead?”

“Did you say something?” The sound of Dany’s voice calmed him a little, but nowhere near enough.

“I’m going to kill them,” hissed Jon, “I’m going to kill them all.”

Dany hurried forward and knelt in front of Jon. She partially recoiled at the ugly look on Jon’s face, but the rest of her sprung into action. “No, Jon,” she countered, “Jon, look at me.”

Jon’s gaze switched to her for a moment, and in that moment she saw the true extent of the betrayal, sadness and anger swimming in them. “Jon,” she soothed, stroking his hair, “this isn’t who you are.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“No!” Dany argued, “It’s not! You hate killing, you said so!”

“I do,” responded Jon, “but if it means you’re safe, then I’ll gladly do it.”

“And that’s the difference! You kill because you have to, not because you want to, and that’s what separates you from everybody else! The Usurper had my niece and nephew, your brother and sister, killed not because he had to, but because he wanted to!”

Jon said nothing, so Dany surged forwards and hugged him. “I’m so tired, Dany,” he mumbled into her jerkin, “I’m so tired of it all.”

“So am I, my love.”

“What are we going to do?” Jon then asked, “we’re surrounded on all sides by enemies.”

“No, we have Tormund and the freefolk, and we have others, but most importantly, we have each other.”

Jon leaned back. “I love you, Dany. Never doubt that.”

“And I never will, my love. I love you too.”

Dany then captured his lips in a kiss, before she guided Jon into the tent. They both had a quick meal before they practically fell into bed. Dany kissed Jon before she settled onto his chest, and they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hoped you enjoyed!


	11. Chapter 11

The next month and a half that passed was fraught with tension. Tormund, true to his word, informed the freefolk about the incoming danger and had instructed the scouts to keep a close eye on the lands to the south and the east. They were protected on the western flank by the Milkwater and you would find next to no living creatures to the North, largely thanks to the Walkers.

Jon and Dany had approached the leaders the day after Tormund told them of the danger and told them of their plans to leave if they wished it, and they, to their surprise, rejected it vehemently.

They had attempted to explain themselves, but they would hear nothing of it.

“You’re one of us now,” one leader interrupted them as they made another plea, “so you will stay with us. We will hear nothing more of it.”

Jon and Dany, greatly shocked by their loyalty, thanked them and assured them that when the Westerosi army came, they’d stand with them and protect them to the best of their abilities. Dany had also made a few quips about how Drogon was always hungry, and it caused a wave of feral grins to spread throughout the tent, even though Dany had no intention of letting Drogon burn them all alive. However, scaring the living daylights out of them wasn’t off the table.

And so, they waited. The freefolk rearranged their camp so it surrounded the passage which lead up to the top of the Fist. They also set up what defences they could around the camp, taking inspiration from what they saw south of the Wall. As such, a ten-foot, Drogon-assisted trench now separated the camp from the rest of the lands beyond. Sharpened wooden spikes lined the bottom of the trench, at Jon’s suggestion, so that anybody who dared cross it wouldn’t get back out. If it worked for the Walkers, it’d work for the Westerosi.

_‘Still, it won’t be enough,’_ Jon thought sadly, as he sat at their tent. Dany was off with her sewing group, so Jon was alone on the top of the Fist, as he had finished with training early today. As he looked into the fire, he couldn’t help the surge of guilt which rose in him. The army was coming for him and Dany, and neither of them wanted anyone to get hurt or die on their behalf. They’d had enough of war and death, and yet another was being foisted upon them even now.

They both contemplated leaving anyway, but they never did, the reason being that they liked being here. Both him and Dany had managed to gain a sense of belonging here. The normalcy of waking up, doing their tasks for the day, then coming back and falling asleep together was of great appeal to both of them, as their lives had been naught but unpredictable until now. They enjoyed the stability that their new lives brought; no thrones, no undead monsters, no politics. But others, mainly his own family, seemed to want to disrupt it, and that brought him nothing but pain.

_‘Why?’_ he pondered, yet again, _‘Why must they do this?’_ Did his happiness mean nothing to them? _‘Well,’_ he snorted, _‘that much is obvious.’_ Sansa betrayed his secret, that he knew for sure, and Bran was apparently going to kill him on the Wall. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure on that, but everything seemed to fit. Even on the Wall, the name Aegon Targaryen was still going to be a threat. His blood was both of the First Men and the Dragonlords of Old Valyria, the first in recorded history, from what Sam had told him during the feast after the dead were defeated.

But, truth be told, he didn’t give a shit about being the first of anything. All his life, he had wanted to be a Stark, to be rid of his bastard name and all the hatred that came with it. He dealt with it all his life in Winterfell, then, surprisingly, at Castle Black, a place which Jon had thought didn’t care about your last name. He only eventually stopped caring about it thanks to Tyrion’s advice, given to him when the King visited Winterfell. “Let me give you some advice, bastard,” he had said. “Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can be never used to hurt you.” His first time with the freefolk encouraged it, as they didn’t care what your last name was, only of what you could do.

Therefore, the rest of his time with the Night's Watch, through when he became King in the North to when he journeyed down to Dragonstone to meet Dany, he had grown used to it. Deep down, he still hated it, but outwardly he didn’t care about it anymore. Then, afterwards, when he fell in love with Dany, she always made it known that she didn’t care what his name was. “ _A Dragon takes what it wants_ ,” she had told him on the boat, “ _and I want you, bastard name and all._ ” By that point, he didn’t care in the slightest about his name. If his name was good enough of her, it was good enough for him.

However, it all came crashing down when he found out that everything he knew about himself was a lie; he wasn’t a bastard, instead being the hidden trueborn child of a love that the realm bled for. It had torn him apart, and he had gone through everything that followed completely relying on his basic instincts that his uncl- father had instilled in him from a young age; _Do what was right._

The revelation of his parentage still bothered him even now. It didn’t involve Dany; he loved her more than life itself, and nothing would ever change that. The thing instead that was bothering him was that he doesn’t even know who he is anymore, or who he should be. Should he be Jon Snow, Eddard Stark’s bastard? Or should he be Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? Or Jon Snow, King in the North? Or, his most recent name, Aegon Targaryen, the Queenslayer? He had heard several people call him that before and during his travel to the Wall.

He shook his head at the last name. He hated the name Queenslayer. _‘Maybe that’s how Jaime felt,’_ mused Jon, _‘branded a name without everyone knowing the full story.’_ Brienne had told Jon the story of what happened during the Sack, again during the feast after the dead were defeated. Jon had wanted to talk to Jaime about it, only to find out he had left Winterfell. Now, however, Jon, to most of the known world, would be known as the man who killed Daenerys Targaryen, and he would be known as that for the rest of his life, despite current events.

But still, who was he? He felt like he was all of them, yet none of them at the same time.

He continued to ponder it until he was brought out of his meanderings by the best sound he could ever hear.

“Oh dear, Ghost, he’s brooding again.”

Jon looked up to see Dany approaching him, Ghost at her side. Ever since they received the warning from Tyrion, Ghost had never left Dany’s side, at Jon’s urging. Jon gave her a warm smile before he looked back to the fire. She ran a hand over his shoulder before she went inside, as she always does everytime she comes home, checking whether everything was as she left it. Ghost, meanwhile, parked himself next to where Jon was sat, and Jon ran a hand through his fur. Five minutes later, Jon smiled again as Dany ran another hand over his shoulder, sat down next to him and leaned into his side, relaxing.

“Everything alright?” she then asked, her voice doing more to soothe Jon’s confused mind more than anything.

Jon shrugged. “Just thinking.”

She laughed, causing yet another smile to grace Jon’s face. “Thinking about what?”

Jon turned to her. “Who am I?”

Dany’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Jon stood, moved a few paces away, then turned back. “Who am I? Am I Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen? Am I a bastard or a trueborn?”

Dany’s brow creased for a moment, before she shrugged lightly. “You’re both. Aegon Targaryen might have been who you were born as, but Jon Snow was who you became. You saved the Freefolk as Jon Snow. You became King in the North as Jon Snow. I fell in love with Jon Snow.”

Jon looked up to her, but she continued. “But you are a Targaryen as well. You are the son of Rhaegar, and from sources who were close to him, you possess many of his attributes.”

“Such as?”

Dany gestured him back to the log. When Jon moved back and sat down, Dany pulled herself into his lap and kissed him soundly. When she leaned back, she launched into her story. “Ser Barristan Selmy was once part of my Queensguard in Meereen. He spoke of your father, of how fond he was of him. My brother, Viserys, told me nothing of Rhaegar but how much he liked killing, and of how good he was at it. Ser Barristan never disputed the fact that he was good at it, but he said that Rhaegar never liked killing.”

Jon said nothing, so Dany continued. “Do you remember when I agreed to mine the Dragonglass?”

Jon let out a small smile. “When we had our argument about which kingdoms belonged to whom?”

Dany nodded. “Yes. You told me how Tyrion liked to talk, and I told you ‘we all like what we’re good at’, and what did you say in response?”

Jon remembered immediately. “I said ‘I don’t.’”

“Exactly. I noticed the similarity back then but didn’t think of the significance of it until after you revealed your parentage. I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Don’t be,” rebutted Jon softly. “I’m glad to hear that I’m like him, even if it’s by the slightest degree. But I still don’t know who I should be.”

Dany nuzzled his cheek. “Be both. Be neither. It’s up to you, but I’ll still love you either way.”

Jon kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

“That’s it?” enquired Dany, her voice now ringing with mischief, “I give life affirming advice and I get a peck on the head?”

Jon shook his head amusedly. “So needy.”

“I don’t care, just kiss me.”

Jon smirked. “Yes, my queen.”

Jon sealed their lips together in a passionate kiss before Dany could remark a protest over his title for her. As they continued to kiss, the protest flew away on the gentle breeze that flew over the top of the fist. Dany clutched Jon as hard as she could as she kissed him with everything she could muster, and Jon did the same. When they separated, they were panting heavily. Jon leaned forward and joined his forehead to hers.

“I want you, Jon,” Dany then breathed, causing Jon to visibly freeze. She had been debating this topic for the last two weeks, and she was ready. The nightmares had continued to recede over the time that had passed, and she wanted to take the next step, to give herself to him, and for him to give himself to her. He brought his now smouldering gaze to hers, and she couldn’t help but gasp at the look in his eyes. The fire and life in them sent delicious tingles racing up and down her body. Oh how she loved it when he was like this. The way his gaze pinned hers practically made her shudder with desire. It always did. “I want you to make love to me,” she purred, rubbing her head against his. Her tone was equal parts asking and pleading.

What he said though, surprised her beyond belief. “No.”

Her face jolted into a look of pure surprise and her insides immediately began to freeze. She eventually managed to stammer, “W-what?”

Jon cupped the side of her face. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly, as we always should have done. If we would have done this before, then perhaps what happened might have been avoided.”

“Do what?” she asked, with a trace of venom.

“Marry me,” Jon then asked. “Marry me, Dany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, writers block is an absolute *****!
> 
> I've been constantly thinking of where I want the story to go, and I was constantly making alterations, causing me to change what I wanted to do. In addition, I'm thinking of rewriting Chapter 3 and fleshing it out a bit, as I feel like it may have been a bit rushed.
> 
> I'm deeply sorry about the wait, and i'll try my hardest to make the uploads more frequent.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	12. A/N

Hey guys, yeah, I'm still alive :)

I know I promised to post more frequently, and I fully intended to. I even wrote ahead, having at least three chapters ready, just in case. But, you seriously wouldn't believe it, my bloody computer blue screened and I ended up having to reinstall windows, which deleted the local copy of ADOIAF. I thought, no biggie, my computer backs it up to onedrive whenever I edit it, so I can get it from there.

But did it? Of course not. I logged into Onedrive, all optimistic and everything, only to discover that the version I saved got corrupted somehow, and not even all the old gods and the new could open it. So, that was three chapters worth of progress down the drain.

Yay.

I was quite proud of them as well, I really felt like they were going in the direction I wanted to.

Now, I have the arduous job of rewriting them, but, just like a shattered coffee mug, you can put it back together, but it's never quite the same. The whole ordeal has burned me out of it a bit, and it'll take a little while for me to get my drive back, but I promise you, I have every intention of finishing this fic. In a way, it's become my extended ending to Game of Thrones, and even i'm excited to find out where our favourite couple end up.

As always, thanks so much for reading!

Wayrich


	13. Chapter 13

Dany froze, to an even greater height than before. _‘Did- Did he?’_  she stumbled mentally. She blinked several times, trying to process what Jon, her Jon, had just asked.

 

Jon, meanwhile, at Dany’s expression, stroked the side of her face gently, his face falling, as if he’d done something wrong. “Dany,” he called out to her softly, “Dany, look at me.”

 

It took a few moments, but she did so, bringing her shocked eyes up to his saddened ones. Jon smiled warmly. “Marry me, Dany,” he repeated.

 

“W-What, Wh-Why?” she stuttered.

 

“I know it’s really out of the blue,” replied Jon, “but I want to marry you. I can’t give you kingdoms, gold, armies or castles. All I have to offer is myself. I want to be yours, Dany, in every sense of the word, just like I want you to be mine. If the matter of children still bothers you, I don’t care about that. Like I told you before, I don’t place your value simply on the fact to produce children. If, in my life, I have nothing but you, I’ll die a happy man, the happiest man.”

 

Dany shook her head. “I- I can,”

 

“I don’t care,” Jon interrupted her firmly, thinking she was bringing up her so called infertility. “I want this, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Marry me, and I’ll worship your body for every day for the rest of my life if you want me to.”

 

The briefest look of a smile flittered onto Dany’s face. “I-”

 

A horn, sharp and piercing, rang out throughout the land.

 

Then another.

 

Jon and Dany sprung apart and stood. Before they could move, however, Jon swept Dany up in a loving kiss. “We’ll finish this later,” he effused, before he released her and strode towards the edge of the crest. Dany remained still for a few moments, blinking rapidly, before she recovered herself and ran after him.

 

She rejoined Jon just as he reached the edge of the clearing. The Far North was spread out below and in front of them, the majority of the area blanketed with snow. The Milkwater could be seen off to the right. The freefolk camp was arrayed infront of them, and from their vantage point, Jon and Dany could see a steady movement of people heading towards the southern trench.

 

They looked south of the camp, where they saw rank after rank of men clearing the forest and marching towards the camp. Jon and Dany watched them with trepidation. The opposing army formed up around six hundred yards from the trench and slowly began to march forward. Jon ran a quick eye over the size of the host, and estimated that there were around three thousand soldiers.

 

Jon sighed a little. So, they had the numbers, but the Westerosi’s horsemen, of which there were many, could inflict tremendous amounts of damage on the ground freefolk forces. His fist tightened however, when, even from this distance, he spotted the familiar sigil of House Stark.

 

The feeling of Dany grasping his hand tightly drew his attention away and back to her. She watched the approaching army with a fearful expression. His fist immediately unclenched and all traces of anger disappeared from his face, even though his insides burned.

 

Jon drew her into a hug. “We have to go down there,” he prompted. “If there’s any chance of stopping bloodshed, we have to try.”

 

Dany nodded defeatedly. “I know, but what if they take me? I don’t want to be alone, not again.” She shuddered at the very thought, causing Jon to tighten his hug.

 

“You’re not alone,” contested Jon. “You have me, and we have Tormund and the freefolk. We have Ghost,” he said, pointing to the large direwolf that stood behind them, his hackles raised, “and we have Drogon,” he said, pointing to the gigantic black dragon, who snarled viciously in response.

 

Dany’s expression slowly changed into firmness, echoing her queenly persona. Her, eyes, however, softened, as she leaned into Jon and kissed him. “Thank you, my love.”

 

Jon kissed her back, and leaned his forehead on hers, sighing softly. Dany did the same.

 

When she leaned back, she gestured to down below. “Let’s go,” she declared. Jon offered her his arm, which she took, and they headed for the passage down. Ghost followed them closely, his bright red eyes rapidly scanning the landscape for threats. Drogon remained on the cliff; he would come if he was needed.

 

The journey down to the camp was fraught with tension and silence, with frequent glances to the Westerosi army, which had paused nearly four hundred yards from the perimeter of the camp. Jon’s free hand was tightly wound around Longclaw’s hilt, and Dany’s was fingering the hilt of the dagger Tormund had given her just after word arrived of the army’s approach. “It’s better than nothing,” he had told her, as he put the dagger on her waist. Just before they lost sight of the army as they descended the fist, they spotted a small group of horsemen separate from the main bulk and ride towards where most of the freefolk were gathered, and their expressions tightened.

 

They soon reached ground level and immediately entered the camp. As they strode through, they gave reassuring smiles to those who greeted them. After a few minutes, they approached the main bulk of freefolk, who stood to the side as they passed, some offering greetings of “King and Queen Crow,” which made Dany smile. That nickname had really grown on her.

 

A thunderous voice greeted their arrival to the vanguard. “I don’t give a fuck what you or your southerner king want!” Tormund yelled, “King and Queen Crow are one of us, and they stay with us!”

 

Both Dany and Jon smiled at Tormund’s defence of them, but they soon dropped when a painfully familiar voice responded.

 

“Please, Tormund, see sense! She’s dangerous!”

 

“I’m dangerous,” growled Tormund, just as Dany and Jon came into view. Tormund stood a few feet away from the freefolk crowd, looking over at the other side of the trench, where several horsemen bearing different sigils were arrayed. Jon recognised most of them; the closed fist of House Glover, the sunburst of House Karstark, the the falcon of House Arryn, the trout of House Tully.

 

At the forefront, however, stood four men bearing the black direwolf of House Stark, and at their head sat Sansa. She wore a finely made thick northern dress, stitched with wolves. A light fur cloak, styled in the manner of the Starks, rested on her shoulders and flowed down her back. Her long ginger hair was braided finely, and on the crest of it rested a elegant looking tiara.

 

Tormund threw them a wide smile when he saw them, and stepped to the side. The men accompanying Sansa let out gasps and cries of surprise and anger as they strode forwards. Sansa’s cold, calculating eyes eyed Dany with equal amounts of disgust and apprehension, but, when she looked at Jon, she smiled.

 

“Jon, brother,” she greeted warmly, “it’s good to see you safe and unharmed.”

 

Jon snorted. “Safe and unharmed? That’s a good one.”

 

Sansa’s eyes widened, and her look soured slightly, but she quickly recovered herself and smiled again. Her smile, however, dissapeared entirely when she turned to Daenerys.

 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” she greeted coolly. “You look very well for someone who is supposed to be dead.”

 

Jon rankled and made to respond scathingly, but Dany squeezed his arm, stopping him. She released Jon and stepped forward, her queenly tone falling into place.

 

“Lady Stark,” she greeted amicably, “it seems ruling agrees with you.”

 

Sansa bristled slightly at Dany’s refusal to call her Queen, but she simply smiled. “Thank you for your words, but I’m afraid I must ask you to come with us.”

 

Dany raised an eyebrow. “And, pray tell, why should I do that?”

 

Sansa smirked. “The Desolation of King’s Landing? _Ring any bells?_ ”

 

Dany’s eyes widened, and flashes of said event appeared before her. The bells ringing. The fire spreading. The people screaming. Her gaze fell to her feet, and she shuffled uncertainly.

 

Meanwhile, the freefolk were shouting out insults. Even Sansa’s men looked surprised at the veracity of her jibe. Jon’s face, meanwhile, had turned molten. He strode forwards, stopping in front of Dany. He drew Longclaw slightly out of its sheath, causing the men with Sansa to also reach for their swords.

 

“Be silent, Stark,” seethed Jon, “or I’ll cut out your tongue myself.”

 

Sansa had the gall to look surprised at Jon’s words. Dany, however, replied, before Sansa could say anything. “I know what I did,” she answered honestly, “but I died for it. I have to live now, with the memories of what I’ve done.”

 

Sansa shook her head firmly. “Not good enough, and you can never trust a Targaryen.”

 

“Nor a Stark, apparently!” exclaimed Jon, before he exploded. He should have said this when they last met in King’s Landing, but by the gods, he would say it now.

 

“HOW DARE YOU!” he yelled, shocking Sansa, “YOU PROMISED, IN FRONT OF A HEART TREE OF ALL THINGS, THAT YOU WOULD TELL NO-ONE, THAT YOU WOULD KEEP MY SECRET! I TOLD YOU BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO SUPPORT DANY, KNOWING SHE WAS FAMILY!”

 

“She’s not my family,” responded Sansa evenly, and Jon ripped Longclaw from it’s sheath and pointed it at Sansa, his eyes ablaze with endless fury. Her guards drew their swords, but looked extremely hesitant about using them.

 

Every part of his body was on fire. He continued with his rant, allowing Sansa’s rebuke to simply fuel his anger. “AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED?” he raged, “YOU RAN YOUR STUPID FUCKING MOUTH TO TYRION, WHO TOLD VARYS, WHO PLOTTED TO POISON AND USURP DANY AND CROWN ME! I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T WANT IT!”

 

“It was your duty-” replied Sansa, but Jon cut her off.

 

“DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT DUTY! IT WAS YOUR DUTY, AS LADY OF WINTERFELL, TO HELP ME SECURE THE NORTH FROM THE WALKERS! BUT, WHEN I BROUGHT DANY, HER DRAGONS AND HER ARMIES, DID YOU DO THAT? NO! YOU UNDERMINED US AT EVERY CORNER, AND THE RESULT IS WHAT YOU SAW AROUND YOU!”

 

His voice then dropped slightly, but he was still shouting. “You want to know the true person responsible for the ‘Desolation of King’s Landing,’ that’s what you call it, is it? LOOK IN THE FUCKING MIRROR!”

 

Sansa stared at Jon, her mouth agape with shock. The riders who accompanied her looked distinctively uncomfortable.

 

Dany stepped forward, prompting Sansa’s gaze to switch to her. “I know that what I did was wrong,” she repeated, “ nay, it was despicable, but-”

 

“Everything before the word but is horseshit, Daenerys.”

 

“Don’t,” interjected Jon, “don’t you _dare_  try and use father’s words against us. He’d be absolutely fucking disgusted with you.”

 

“He would understand,” replied Sansa, before her face dropped into one of pleading. “Please, brother, do the honourable thing, like father always taught us. Daenerys cannot escape punishment for her crimes!”

 

“My father,” replied Jon, “understood that there are most important things than honour. He sacrificed his honour, day after day, to keep me safe. He took all of the comments sent his way, of how the great and vaunted Eddard Stark forsook his honour and begat a bastard son, to protect me, his _family_. Dany is my family, and as of now, she is my only family, as I cut all ties with House Stark. Fuck off back to Winterfell and stay there, or I swear to every single god that exists that I’ll kill every single one of you.”

 

“I’m not leaving with you,” Dany confirmed with a shake of her head. “My place is here now.” To demonstrate, she grasped Jon’s hand, threading her fingers in with his.

 

Sansa sent one last pleading gaze to Jon, but when he didn’t budge, she sighed. “I came here to offer you peace, but you choose war. Very well, I will give you three days, out of courtesy, to change your minds.”

 

Tormund stepped forward. “Fuck your three days. They stay here.”

 

“Is this what you want?” she then asked the rest of the freefolk desperately, “to die for them?”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” yelled Jon fiercely. “You’ve heard our response, now leave!” The freefolk agreed vehemently, as they started shouting and waving their weapons.

 

“And,” added Dany, “consider this; if you attack the freefolk, we will defend them to the fullest extent of our abilities. All our abilities.”

 

Sansa threw Dany a questioning look, which soon faded to dread when a thunderous roar echoed over the landscape. Sansa and the northerners looked up to see Drogon barrelling towards them. He crashed to the ground, bringing his flinty gaze to Sansa and the Northerners, who retreated. Drogon roared again, holding his jaw open slightly, giving them all a glimpse of the ravaging inferno he could and would summon at will.

 

Sansa turned back to Jon, one last time. “Please brother,” she begged, “don’t do this. Father wouldn’t want-”

 

“Don’t mention father!” he yelled. His eyes then glinted, and his mouth dropped open. “You know what,” he then told her, “it’s just hit me. I may take after your father, but you take after your bitch of a mother, don’t you? She despised me, hated me, because of who my parents were, and you did the same! You hated Dany, distrusted Dany, simply because of who her father was! A Tully through and through, aren’t you? So blind that they can’t see what’s right in front of them!”

 

Tears began to flow from Sansa’s eyes, but Jon was unfazed. “Tears, Sansa? If there are any tears to be shed, they should be for Dany! She came North to help us, to save us. She lost her armies, her friends, her dragons, her family, to save us, and how did we repay her? We schemed behind her back, plotted to undermine her, discarded the people she had lost, and for what? So the North could be independent?”

 

“It was what we deserved!”

 

Jon laughed savagely. “Oh my god, Sansa, use your fucking head! The North doesn’t need independence! Tell me, how are you able to feed your people? With what gold? The North suffered with food shortages even before it sank into a war which you did nothing to stop!”

 

“I-”

 

“Dany’s rule was the best thing for the Seven Kingdoms! She brought one thing to us that we’d lacked in years; stability! And then you and your pompous pricks that you call Great Lords, with your stupid fucking Game of Thrones, destroyed that!”

 

“And what about Jon?” Dany asked her. “He gave everything he had to prepare us for the Walkers! He brought the freefolk South to save them, and was murdered for it! He lost his brother retaking Winterfell, to give you back your home! He went to me, begging for my aid, when everybody told him not to do so! He kil-” she hesitated, squeezing Jon's hand when he flinched, “ _stopped_ me," she corrected, "to save you all from what I was becoming, and how did you reward him? Send him to the place he died, where he lost everything, to be murdered again?”

 

Sansa’s tear-stained eyes widened slightly, and Jon instantly recognised that look; it was the look she wore after everytime she blamed Jon for something she did as a child. He let out another savage laugh. “You knew then? You knew Bran was going to murder me? You preach of family, calling me your brother, when you plot to kill me?”

 

“I-I-”

 

Dany gestured to the men accompanying Sansa. “Is this how you treat the man whose efforts saved you? You chain him, send him away, plot to kill him?” A few of the men stared back, unabashed, but many of them, nearly all them northerners, shook their heads and looked down, ashamed.

 

Jon twirled Longclaw. “Last chance, Stark. Fuck off.”

 

Sansa’s face turned to steel. She made no attempt to hide her anger now. “Very well, I shall go. However, be warned. Bran has seen all that has happened here. Reinforcements are already coming, along with countermeasures to deal with your dragon.” With a passing smirk at the paling of Dany’s face, she turned and rode back towards her army. Several men stayed for a few moments longer, and gave Jon subtle nods before they too left the area.

 

Both Jon and Dany sighed heavily when Sansa disappeared from view.

 

“That went well,” Jon laughed unamusedly.

 

Dany let out a small smile, but it quickly fell. She was sure that Sansa’s countermeasures were ballistas. That smirk told a thousand words. Dany thought she had destroyed them all, but either she missed one or they had built more. She didn’t know which was worse: that she’d left one of the machines that shot down her beloved Rhaegal intact, or that more were made with the express purpose of fighting and killing Drogon.

 

The wind had picked up, and so it howled through the area. It reminded her of Rhaegal’s death, of his pitiful screeches and of the whistling the bolts made as they flew through the air. Nevertheless, it was successful in driving her mood even lower.

 

Dany looked up to Jon, her eyes beginning to water. “What do we do?”

 

Jon’s gaze switched between the camp, Drogon and the invaders, before his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know,” he answered, “if Sansa speaks true, the numbers advantage we have is going to disappear fast.”

 

A single errant tear slipped from one of Dany’s eyes, so Jon immediately wrapped her up in a hug and sealed his lips to hers. Dany responded after a few moments, and began kissing him with everything she had, if it were to take the pain and the worry away for even a moment.

 

They both heard Tormund muttering, “I don’t need to see this shit,” before he was heard stomping away and ordering people to watch the Westerosi army at all times.

 

While their lips eventually separated, their arms remained wrapped around each other. Dany nestled her head in Jon’s neck, and Jon kissed the crown of her head in return.

 

“Whatever comes,” Jon said after a few minutes of silence, “we face it together.”

 

Dany leaned up and kissed him soundly. “We face it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, this chapter has been a long time coming, and I thank you all for sticking by me. Your comments, all of them, are truly appreciated.
> 
> I can't give any specific date for the release of the next chapter, but hopefully it'll be in the next two or three weeks. I'll keep the Author Note up for a few days, then i'll remove it.
> 
> As always, my deepest thanks for continuing to read this story, and i'll see you next time!
> 
> Wayrich


End file.
